o 


ne 


D 


£ 


6F 


ONE  DAY 


ONE   DAY 


A      SEQUEL     TO 
"THREE     WEEKS" 


ANONYMOUS 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 

1909 


COFYWGHT,  1909,  3T 

T»  MACAULAY  COMPANT 


FOREWORD   TO 
MY    AMERICAN    FRIENDS 

Now  after    spending    some    very    pleasant 
weeks  in  your  interesting  country,  I  fed 
sure  that  this  book  will  find  many  sym- 
pathetic readers  in  America.    Quite  naturally  it 
will  be  discussed ;  some,  doubtless,  will  censure  it 
— and  unjustly;  others  will  believe  with  me  that 
the  tale  teaches  a  great  moral  lesson. 

Born  as  the  Boy  was  born,  the  end  which  Fate 
forced  upon  him,  to  me,  was  inevitable.  Each 
word  and  act  of  the  three  weeks  of  his  parents' 
love-idyl  must  reflect  in  the  character  and  life  of 
the  child.  Little  by  little  the  baby  King  grew 
before  my  mental  vision  until  I  saw  at  last  there 
was  no  escape  from  his  importunity  and  I  allowed 
the  insistent  Boy — masterful  even  from  his  incep- 
tion— to  shape  himself  at  his  own  sweet  will. 
Thus  he  became  the  hero  of  my  study. 


2128691 


FOREWORD 

This  is  not  a  book  for  children  or  fools — but  for 
men  and  women  who  can  grasp  the  underlying 
principle  of  morality  which  has  been  uppermost  in 
my  mind  as  I  wrote.  Those  who  can  see  beyond 
the  outburst  of  passion — the  overmastering  belief 
in  the  power  of  love  to  justify  all  things,  which 
the  Boy  inherited  so  naturally  from  his  Queen 
mother — will  understand  the  forces  against  which 
the  young  Prince  must  needs  fight  a  losing  battle. 
The  transgression  was  unavoidable  to  one  whose 
very  conception  was  beyond  the  law — the  punish- 
ment was  equally  inevitable. 

In  fairness  to  this  book  of  mine — and  to  me — 
the  great  moral  lesson  I  have  endeavored  to  teach 
must  be  considered  in  its  entirety,  and  no  single 
episode  be  construed  as  the  book's  sole  aim.  The 
verdict  on  my  two  years'  work  rests  with  you,  dear 
Reader,  but  at  least  you  may  be  sure  that  I  have 
only  tried  to  show  that  those  who  sow  the  wind 
shall  reap  the  whirlwind. 

— THE  AUTHOR. 


ONE  DAY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  Prince  tore  the  missive  fiercely  from  its 
envelope,   and  scowled  at  the  mocking 
glint  of  the  royal  crown  so  heavily  em- 
bossed at  the  top  of  the  paper.    What  a  toy  it  was, 
he  thought,  to  cost  so  much,  and  eventually  to 
mean  so  little !    Roughly  translated,  the  letter  ran 
as  follows : 

"Your  Royal  Highness  will  be  gratified  to  learn 
that  at  last  a  satisfactory  alliance  has  been  ar- 
ranged between  the  Princess  Elodie  of  Austria 
and  your  royal  self.  It  is  the  desire  of  both  courts 
and  councils  that  the  marriage  shall  be  solemnized 
on  the  fifteenth  of  the  May  following  your  twenty- 
first  birthday,  at  which  time  the  coronation  cere- 
mony takes  place  that  is  to  place  the  crown  of  the 
kingdom  upon  the  head  of  the  son  of  our  be- 
loved and  ever-to-be-regretted  Imperatorskoye. 
The  Court  and  Council  extend  greetings  and 
congratulations  upon  the  not  far  distant  ap- 


ONE  DAY 

proach  of  both  auspicious  events  to  your  Royal 
Highness,  which  cannot  fail  to  afford  the  utmost 
satisfaction  in  every  detail  to  the  ever-beautiful- 
and-never-to-be-sufficiently  beloved  Prince  Paul. 
"Imperator-to-be,  we  salute  thee.  We  kiss  thy 
feet." 

The  letter  was  sealed  with  the  royal  crest  and 
signed  by  the  Regent — the  Boy's  uncle — the 
Grand  Duke  Peter,  his  mother's  brother,  who  had 
been  his  guardian  and  protector  almost  from  his 
birth.  The  young  prince  knew  that  his  uncle 
loved  him,  knew  that  the  Grand  Duke  desired 
nothing  on  earth  so  much  as  the  happiness  of  his 
beloved  sister's  only  son — and  yet  at  this  crisis  of 
the  Boy's  life,  even  his  uncle  was  as  powerless  to 
help  as  was  Paul  Verdayne,  the  Englishman. 

"The  Princess  Elodie!"  he  grumbled.  "Who 
the  devil  is  this  Princess  Elodie,  anyway?  Aus- 
trian blood  has  no  particular  charm  for  me !  They 
might  at  least  have  told  me  something  a  little  more 
definite  about  the  woman  they  have  picked  out  to 
be  the  mother  of  my  children.  A  man  usually 
likes  to  look  an  animal  over  before  he  purchases !" 

Known  to  London  society  as  Monsieur  Zalen- 


IO 


ONE  DAY 

ska,  the  Prince  had  come  up  to  town  with  the 
Verdaynes,  and  was  apparently  enjoying  to  the  ut- 
most the  frivolities  of  London  life. 

At  a  fashionable  garden  party  he  sat  alone,  in 
a  seclusion  he  had  long  sought  and  had  finally 
managed  to  secure,  behind  a  hedge  of  hawthorn 
where  none  but  lovers,  and  men  and  women  trou- 
bled as  he  was  troubled,  cared  to  conceal  them- 
selves. 

The  letter,  long-expected  and  dreaded,  had 
finally  crossed  the  continent  to  his  hand.  It 
was  only  the  written  confirmation  of  the  sen- 
tence Fate  had  pronounced  upon  him,  even  as 
it  had  pronounced  similar  sentences  upon 
princes  and  potentates  since  the  beginning  of 
thrones  and  kingdoms. 

While  the  Prince — or  Paul  Zalenska,  as  I  will 
now  call  him — sat  in  his  brooding  brown  study, 
clutching  the  imperial  letter  tightly  in  his  young 
hand,  his  attention  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of 
voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  hawthorn  hedge. 

He  listened  idly,  at  first,  to  what  seemed  to  be 
a  one-sided  conversation,  in  a  dull,  emotionless 
feminine  voice — a  discourse  on  fashion,  society 


II 


ONE  DAY 

chit-chat,  and  hopeless  nonentities,  interspersed 
with  bits  of  gossip.  Could  women  never  talk 
about  anything  else?  he  thought  impatiently. 

But  his  displeasure  did  not  seem  to  affect  the 
course  of  things  at  all.  The  voice,  completely  un- 
conscious of  the  aversion  it  aroused  in  the  invisible 
listener,  continued  its  dreary,  expressionless  mon- 
otone. 

"What  makes  you  so  silent,  Opal  ?  You  haven't 
said  a  word  to-day  that  you  didn't  absolutely  have 
to  say.  If  all  American  girls  are  as  dreamy  as 
you,  I  wonder  why  our  English  lords  are  so  irre- 
sistibly attracted  across  the  water  when  in  search 
of  brides!" 

And  then  the  Boy  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge 
felt  his  sluggish  pulse  quicken,  and  almost  started 
to  his  feet,  impelled  by  a  sudden  thrill  of  delight ; 
for  another  voice  had  spoken — a  voice  of  such 
infinite  charm  and  sweetness  and  vitality,  yet  with 
languorous  suggestion  of  emotional  heights  and 
depths,  that  he  felt  a  vague  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment when  the  magnetic  notes  finally  died  away. 

"Brides  ?"  the  voice  echoed,  with  a  lilt  of  girlish 
laughter  running  through  the  words.  "You  mean 


12 


ONE  DAY 

'bribes,'  don't  you  ?  For  I  assure  you,  dear  cousin, 
it  is  the  metallic  clink  of  American  gold,  and  noth- 
ing else,  that  lures  your  great  men  over  the  sea. 
As  for  my  silence,  ma  belle,  I  have  been  uncom- 
municative because  there  really  seemed  nothing  at 
all  worth  saying.  I  can't  accustom  myself  to 
small-talk — I  can't  even  listen  to  it  patiently.  I 
always  feel  a  wild  impulse  to  fly  far,  far  away, 
where  I  can  close  my  ears  to  it  all  and  listen  to  my 
own  thoughts.  I'm  sorry  if  I  disappoint  you, 
Alice — I  seem  to  disappoint  everybody  that  I 
would  like  to  please — but  I  assure  you,  laugh  at 
my  dreams  as  you  may,  to  me  my  dream-life  is 
far  more  attractive  and  beautiful  than  what  you 
term  Life.  Forgive  me  if  I  hurt  you,  cousin.  I'm 
peculiarly  constituted,  perhaps,  but  I  don't  like 
this  twaddle,  and  I  can't  help  it!  Everything  in 
England  is  so  beautiful,  and  yet  its  society  seems 
so — so  hopelessly  unsatisfactory  to  one  who 
longs  to  live!" 

"To  live,  Opal?  We  are  not  dead,  surely! 
What  do  you  mean  by  life?" 

And  so  her  name  was  Opal !  How  curiously  the 
name  suited  the  voice!  The  Boy,  as  he  listened, 


ONE  DAY 

felt  that  no  other  name  could  possibly  have 
matched  that  voice — the  opal,  that  glorious  gem 
in  which  all  the  fires  of  the  sun,  the  iridescent 
glories  of  the  rainbow,  and  the  cold  brilliance  of 
ice  and  frost  and  snow  seemed  to  blend  and  crys- 
tallize. All  this,  and  more,  was  in  that  mysteri- 
ously fascinating  voice. 

"To  live,  Alice  ?"  echoed  the  voice  again.  "To 
live?  Why,  to  live  is  to  feel! — to  feel  every  emo- 
tion of  which  the  human  soul  is  capable,  to  rise 
to  the  heights  of  love,  and  knowledge,  and  power ; 
to  sink — if  need  be — to  the  deepest  depths  of  de- 
spair, but,  at  all  costs,  at  all  hazards,  to  live! — 
to  experience  in  one's  own  nature  all  the  reality 
and  fullness  of  the  deathless  emotions  of  life !" 

The  voice  sank  almost  to  the  softness  of  a  whis- 
per, yet  even  then  was  vibrant,  alive,  intense. 

"Ah,  Alice,  from  my  childhood  up,  I  have 
dreamed  of  life  and  longed  for  it.  What  life 
really  is,  each  must  decide  for  himself,  must  he 
not?  Some,  they  say,  sleep  their  way  through  a 
dreamless  existence,  and  never,  never  wake 
to  realities.  Alice,  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
if  that  was  to  be  my  fate,  have  wondered  and 


ONE  DAY 

wondered  until  I  have  cried  out  in  real  terror  at 
the  hideous  prospect!  Surely  Fate  could  not  be 
so  cruel  as  to  implant  such  a  desperate  desire  in 
a  soul  that  never  was  to  know  its  fulfilment. 
Could  it,  Alice?  Tell  me,  could  it?" 

The  Boy  held  his  breath  now. 

Who  was  this  girl,  anyhow,  who  seemed  to 
express  his  own  thoughts  as  accurately  as  he  him- 
self could  have  done?  He  was  bored  no  longer. 
He  was  roused,  stirred,  awakened — and  intensely 
interested.  It  was  as  though  the  voice  of  his  own 
soul  spoke  to  him  in  a  dream. 

The  cold,  lifeless  voice  now  chimed  in  again. 
In  his  impatience  the  Boy  clenched  his  fists  and 
shut  his  teeth  together  hard.  Why  didn't  she  keep 
still?  He  didn't  want  to  miss  a  single  note  he 
might  have  caught  of  the  voice — that  other !  Why 
did  this  nonentity — for  one  didn't  have  to  see  her 
to  be  sure  that  she  was  that — have  to  interrupt 
and  rob  him  of  his  pleasure? 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Opal,"  she  was  say- 
ing. (Of  course  she  didn't,  thought  the  Boy — 
how  could  she?)  "I  am  sure  that  I  live.  And 
yet  I  have  never  felt  that  way — thank  goodness! 


ONE  DAY 

It's  vulgar  to  feel  too  deeply,  Mamma  used  to 
say,  and  as  I  have  grown  older,  I  can  see  that  she 
was  right.  The  best  people  never  show  any  excess 
of  emotion.  That  is  for  tragedy  queens,  operatic 
stars,  and — the  women  we  do  not  talk  about !  La- 
dies cultivate  repose!" 

("Repose! — mon  DieuT  thought  Paul,  behind 
the  hedge.  He  wished  that  she  would!) 

"And  yet,  Alice,  you  are — married!" 

"Married? — of  course! — why  not?"  and  the 
eavesdropper  fancied  he  could  see  the  wide-open 
gaze  of  well-bred  English  surprise  that  accom- 
panied the  words.  "One  has  to  marry,  of 
course.  That  is  what  we  are  created  for.  But 
one  doesn't  make  a  fuss  about  it.  It's  only  a 
custom — a  ceremony — and  doesn't  change  ex- 
istence much  for  most  women,  if  they  choose 
sensibly.  Of  course  there  is  always  the  chance 
of  a  mesalliance!  A  woman  has  to  risk  that." 

"And  you  don't — love?" 

The  Boy  was  struck  by  a  note  that  was  almost 
horror  in  the  opaline  voice  so  near  him. 

"Love?  Why,  Opal,  of  course  we  do!  It's 
easy  to  love,  you  know,  when  a  man  is  decent  and 


16 


ONE  DAY 

half-way  good  to  one.  I  am  sure  I  think  a  great 
deal  of  Algernon;  but  I  dare  say  I  should  have 
thought  as  much  of  any  other  man  I  had  hap- 
pened to  marry.  That  is  a  wife's  duty !" 

"Duty! — and  you  call  that  love?"  The  hor- 
ror in  the  tones  had  now  changed  to  scorn. 

"You  have  strange  ideas  of  life,  Opal.  I  should 
be  afraid  to  indulge  them  if  I  were  you — really 
I  should !  You  have  lived  so  much  in  books  that 
you  seem  to  have  a  very  garbled  idea  of  the  world. 
Fiction  is  apt  to  be  much  of  x  fairy  tale,  a  crazy 
exaggeration  of  what  living  really  consists  of!" 

"Afraid?  Why  should  I  be  afraid?  I  am  an 
American  girl,  remember,  and  Americans  are 
afraid  of  nothing — nothing!  Come,  cousin,  tell 
to  me,  if  you  can,  why  I  should  be  afraid." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  really  I  don-'t!"  There 
was  a  troubled,  perplexed  note  in  the  English 
voice  now.  "  Such-  notions  are  apt  to  get  girls 
into  trouble,  and  lead  them  to  some  unhappy  fate. 
Too  much  'life' — as  you  call  it — must  mean  suf- 
fering, and  sorrow,  and  many  tears — and  maybe, 
sin!" 

There  was  a  shocked  note  in  the  voice  of  the 


ONE  DAY 

young  English  matron  as  she  added  the  last  word, 
and  her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  But  Paul  Zalen- 
ska  heard,  and  smiled. 

"Suffering,  and  sorrow,  and  many  tears,"  re- 
peated the  American  girl,  musingly,  "and  maybe 
— sin!"  Then  she  went  on,  firmly,  "Very  well, 
Alice,  give  me  the  suffering  and  sorrow,  and  many 
tears — and  the  sin,  too,  if  it  must  be,  for  we  are 
all  sinners  of  greater  or  less  degree — but  at  any 
rate,  give  me  life !  My  life  may  still  be  far  off  in 
the  future,  but  when  the  time  comes,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly know,  and — I  shall  live!" 

"You  are  a  peculiar  girl,  Opal,  and — we  don't 
say  those  things  in  England." 

"No,  you  don't  say  those  things,  you  cold  Eng- 
lish women !  You  do  not  even  feel  them !  As  for 
sin,  Alice,  to  my  mind  there  can  be  no  worse  sin 
under  heaven  than  you  commit  when  you  give 
yourself  to  a  man  whom  you  do  not  love  better 
than  you  could  possibly  love  any  other.  Oh,  it 
is  a  sin — it  must  be — to  sell  yourself  like  that! 
It's  no  wonder,  I  think,  that  your  husbands  are 
so  often  driven  to  'the  women  we  do  not  talk 
about'  for — consolation!" 


18 


ONE  DAY 

"Opal!  Opal!  hush!  What  are  you  saying? 
You  really — but  see !  isn't  that  Algernon  crossing 
the  terrace?  He  is  probably  looking  for  us." 

"And  like  a  dutiful  English  wife,  you  mustn't 
fail  to  obey,  I  suppose!  Lead  the  way,  cousin 
mine,  and  I'll  promise  to  follow  you  with  due 
dignity  and  decorum." 

And  the  rustle  of  silken  skirts  heralded  the 
departure  of  the  ladies  away  from  the  hedge  and 
beyond  Paul's  hearing. 

Then  he  too  started  at  an  eager,  restless  pace 
for  the  centre  of  the  crowd.  He  had  quite  forgot- 
ten the  future  so  carefully  arranged  for  him,  and 
was  off  in  hot  pursuit  of — what?  He  did  not 
know !  He  only  knew  that  he  had  heard  a  voice, 
and — he  followed! 

As  he  rejoined  the  guests,  he  looked  with  awak- 
ened interest  into  every  face,  listened  with  eager 
intensity  to  every  voice.  But  all  in  vain.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  he  might  easily  learn  from 
his  hostess  the  identity  of  her  American  guest; 
and  even  if  the  thought  had  presented  itself  to 
him,  he  would  never  have  acted  upon  it.  The 


ONE  DAY 

experience  was  his  alone,  and  he  would  have  been 
unwilling  to  share  it  with  any  one. 

He  was  no  longer  bored  as  earlier  in  the  after- 
noon, and  he  carried  the  assurance  of  enthusiasm 
and  interest  in  his  every  glance  and  motion.  Peo- 
ple smiled  at  the  solitary  figure,  and  whispered 
that  he  must  have  lost  Verdayne.  But  for  once 
in  his  life,  the  Boy  was  not  looking  for  his  friend. 

But  neither  did  he  find  the  voice! 

Usually  among  the  first  to  depart  on  such  occa- 
sions as  these,  this  time  he  remained  until  almost 
all  the  crowd  had  made  their  adieux.  And  it  was 
with  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment  that  he  at 
last  entered  his  carriage  for  the  home  of  the  Ver- 
daynes.  He  was  hearing  again  and  again  in  the 
words  of  the  voice,  as  it  echoed  through  his  very 
soul,  "When  my  time  comes,  I  shall  certainly 
know,  and  I  shall — live!" 

The  letter  in  his  pocket  no  longer  scorched  the 
flesh  beneath.  He  had  forgotten  its  very  exist- 
ence, nor  did  he  once  think  of  the  Princess  Elodie 
of  Austria.  What  had  happened  to  him? 

Had  he  fallen  in  love  with  a — voice? 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  May  at  Verdayne  Place,  and  May  at 
Verdayne  Place  was  altogether  different 
from  May  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 
The  skies  were  of  a  far  deeper  and  richer  blue; 
the  flowers  reached  a  higher  state  of  fragrant  and 
rainbow-hued  perfection ;  the  sun  shining  through 
the  green  of  the  trees  was  tempered  to  just  the 
right  degree  of  shine  and  shadow.  To  an  Eng- 
lishman, home  is  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the 
world,  and  Paul  Verdayne  was  a  typical  English- 
man. 

To  be  sure,  it  had  not  always  been  so,  but  Paul 
had  outlived  his  vagabond  days  and  had  become 
thoroughly  domesticated;  yet  there  had  been  a 
time  in  his  youth  when  the  wandering  spirit  had 
filled  his  soul,  when  the  love  of  adventure  had 
lent  wings  to  his  feet,  and  the  glory  of  romance 
had  lured  him  to  the  lights  and  shadows  of  other 
skies  than  these.  But  Verdayne  was  older  now, 


21 


ONE  DAY 

very  much  older !    He  had  lived  his  life,  he  said, 
and  settled  down ! 

In  the  shade  of  the  tall  trees  of  the  park,  two 
men  were  drinking  in  the  beauties  of  the  season, 
in  all  the  glory  and  splendor  of  its  ever-changing, 
yet  ever-enduring  loveliness.  One  of  them  was 
past  forty,  the  ripeness  of  middle  age  and  the  gen- 
eral air  of  a  well-spent,  well-directed,  and  fully- 
developed  life  lending  to  his  face  and  form  an  un- 
usual distinction — even  in  that  land  of  distin- 
guished men.  His  companion  was  a  boy  of  twen- 
ty, straight  and  tall  and  proud,  carrying  himself 
with  the  regal  grace  of  a  Greek  god.  He  was 
^"strong,  handsome,  healthy,  well-built,  and  well- 
instructed  boy,  a  boy  at  whom  any  one  who  looked 
once  would  be  sure  to  look  the  second  time,  even 
though  he  could  not  tell  exactly  wherein  the  pe- 
culiar charm  lay.  Both  men  were  fair  of  hair  and 
blue-eyed,  with  clear,  clean  skins  and  well-bred 
English  faces,  and  the  critical  observer  could 
scarcely  fail  to  notice  how  curiously  they  resem- 
bled each  other.  Indeed,  the  younger  of  the  pair 
might  easily  have  been  the  replica  of  the  elder's 
youth. 


22 


ONE  DAY 

When  they  spoke,  however,  the  illusion  of  re- 
semblance disappeared.  In  the  voice  of  the  Boy 
was  a  certain  vibrant  note  that  was  entirely  lack- 
ing in  the  deeper  tones  of  the  man — not  an  ac- 
cent, nor  yet  an  inflection,  but  still  a  quality  that 
lent  a  subtle  suggestion  of  foreign  shores.  It  was 
an  expressive  voice,  neither  languorous  nor  un- 
duly forceful,  but  strangely  magnetic,  and  ador- 
ably rich  and  full,  and  musical,  thrilling  its  hear- 
ers with  its  suggestion  of  latent  physical  and  spir- 
itual force. 

On  the  afternoon  of  which  I  write,  those  two 
were  facing  a  crisis  that  made  them  blind  to  every- 
thing of  lesser  import.  Paul  Verdayne — the  man 
— realized  this  to  the  full.  His  companion — the 
Boy — was  dimly  but  just  as  acutely  conscious  of 
it.  The  question  had  come  at  last — the  question 
that  Paul  Verdayne  had  been  dreading  for  years. 

"Uncle  Paul,"  the  Boy  was  saying,  "what  rela- 
tion are  you  to  me  ?  You  are  not  really  my  uncle, 
though  I  have  been  taught  to  call  you  so  after  this 
quaint  English  fashion  of  yours.  I  know  it  is 
something  of  a  secret,  but  I  know  no  more !  We 
are  closer  comrades,  it  seems  to  me — you  and  I — 


ONE  DAY 

than  any  others  in  all  the  world.  We  always  un- 
derstand each  other,  somehow,  almost  without 
words — is  it  not  so  ?  I  even  bear  your  name,  and 
I  am  proud  of  it,  because  it  is  yours.  But  why 
must  there  be  so  much  mystery  about  our  real  re- 
lationship? Won't  you  tell  me  just  what  I  am  to 
you?" 

The  question,  long-looked-for  as  it  was,  found 
the  elder  man  all  unprepared.  Is  any  one  ever 
ready  for  any  dire  calamity,  however  certainly  ex- 
pected? He  paced  up  and  down  under  the  tall 
trees  of  the  park  and  for  a  time  did  not  answer. 
Then  he  paused  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  the  Boy  with  a  tenderness  of  touch  that 
proved  better  than  any  words  how  close  was  the 
bond  between  them. 

"Tell  you  what  you  are  to  me!  I  could  never, 
never  do  that !  You  are  everything  to  me,  every- 
thing!" 

The  Boy  made  a  motion  as  if  to  speak,  but  the 
man  forestalled  him. 

"We're  jolly  good  friends,  aren't  we — the  very 
best  of  companions  ?  In  all  the  world  there  is  no 
man,  woman  or  child  that  is  half  so  near  and  dear 


ONE  DAY 

to  me  as  you.  Men  don't  usually  talk  about  these 
things  to  one  another,  you  know,  Boy ;  but,  though 
I  am  a  bachelor,  you  see,  I  feel  toward  you  as  most 
men  feel  toward  their  sons.  What  does  the  mere 
defining  of  the  relationship  matter?  Could  we 
possibly  be  any  more  to  each  other  than  we  are  ?" 

Paul  Verdayne  seated  himself  on  a  little  knoll 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  giant  oak.  The  Boy  looked 
at  him  with  the  wistfulness  of  an  infinite  question 
in  his  gaze. 

"No,  no,  Boy!  Some  time,  perhaps — yes,  cer- 
tainly— you  shall  know  all,  all !  But  that  time  has 
not  yet  come,  and  for  the  present  it  is  best  that 
things  should  rest  as  they  are.  Trust  us,  Boy — 
trust  me — and  be  patient !" 

"Patient!"  The  Boy  laughed  a  full,  ringing 
laugh,  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  grass  at  his 
companion's  feet.  "I  have  never  learned  the 
word!  Could  you  be  patient,  Uncle  Paul,  when 
youth  was  all  on  fire  in  your  heart,  with  your  own 
life  shrouded  in  mystery?  Could  you,  I  say,  be 
patient  then  ?" 

Verdayne  laughed  indulgently  as  his  strong 
fingers  stroked  the  Boy's  brown  curls. 


ONE  DAY 

"Perhaps  not,  Boy,  perhaps  not !  But  it  is  for 
you,"  he  continued,  "for  you,  Boy,  to  make  the 
best  of  that  life  of  yours,  which  you  are  pleased 
to  think  clouded  in  such  tantalizing  mystery.  It 
is  for  you  to  develop  every  God-given  faculty  of 
your  being  that  all  of  us  that  love  you  may  have 
the  happiness  of  seeing  you  perform  wisely  and 
well  the  mission  upon  which  you  have  been  sent 
to  this  kingdom  of  yours  to  accomplish.  Boy! 
every  true  man  is  a  king  in  the  might  of  his  man- 
hood, but  upon  you  is  bestowed  a  double  portion 
of  that  universal  royalty.  This  is  a  throne-wor- 
shipping world  we  are  living  in,  Paul,  and  it 
means  even  more  than  you  can  realize  to  be  a 
prince  of  the  blood !" 

The  Boy  looked  around  the  park  apprehen- 
sively. What  if  someone  heard?  For  this  straight 
young  sapling,  who  was  only  the  "Boy"  to  Paul 
Verdayne,  was  to  the  world  at  large  an  heir  to  a 
throne,  a  king  who  had  been  left  in  infancy  the 
sole  ruler  of  his  kingdom. 

His  visits  to  Verdayne  Place  were  incognito. 
He  did  like  to  throw  aside  the  purple  now  and 
then  and  be  the  real  live  boy  he  was  at  heart.  He 


26 


ONE  DAY 

did  enjoy  to  the  full  his  occasional  opportunities, 
unhampered  by  the  trappings  and  obligations  of 
royalty. 

"A  prince  of  the  blood !"  he  echoed  scornfully. 
"Bah ! — what  is  that  ?  Merely  an  accident  of 
birth!" 

"No,  not  an  accident,  Paul!  Nothing  in  the 
world  ever  is  that.  Every  fragment  of  life  has  its 
completing  part  somewhere,  given  its  place  in  the 
scheme  of  the  universe  by  intricate  design — al- 
ways by  design!  As  for  the  duties  of  your  king- 
dom, my  Prince,  it  is  not  like  you  to  take  them  so 
lightly." 

"I  know !  I  know !  Yet  everybody  might  have 
been  born  a  prince.  It  is  far  more  to  be  a  man !" 

"True  enough,  Boy!  yet  everybody  might  not 
have  been  born  to  your  position.  Only  you  could 
have  been  given  the  heritage  that  is  yours!  My 
Boy,  yours  is  a  mission,  a  responsibility,  from  the 
Creator  of  Life  Himself.  Everybody  can  follow 
— but  only  God's  chosen  few  can  lead!  And 
you — oh,  Boy !  yours  is  a  birthright  above  that  of 
all  other  princes — if  you  only  knew  1" 


ONE  DAY 

The  young  prince  looked  wistfully  upward  into 
the  eyes  of  the  elder  man. 

"Tell  me,  Uncle  Paul!  Dmitry  always  speaks 
of  my  birth  with  a  reverence  and  awe  quite  out  of 
proportion  to  its  possible  consequence — poor  old 
man.  And  once  even  the  Grand  Duke  Peter  spoke 
of  my  'divine  origin,'  though  he  could  not  be 
coaxed  or  wheedled  into  committing  his  wise  self 
any  further.  Now  you,  yourself  the  most  reserved 
and  secretive  of  individuals  when  it  pleases  you  to 
be  so,  have  just  been  surprised  into  something  of 
the  same  expression.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  long 
to  unravel  the  mystery  that  you  are  all  so  deter- 
mined to  keep  from  me?  I  can  learn  nothing  at 
home — absolutely  nothing!  They  glorify  my 
mother — God  bless  her  memory !  Everyone  wor- 
ships her!  But  they  never  speak  of  you,  and 
they  are  silent,  too,  about  my  father.  They  sim- 
ply won't  tell  me  a  thing  about  him,  so  I  don't 
imagine  that  he  could  have  been  a  very  good  king ! 
Was  he,  Uncle  Paul  ?  Did  you  know  him  ?" 

"I  never  knew  the  king,  Boy ! — never  even  saw 
him!" 

"But  you  must  have  heard " 


28 


ONE  D4Y 

"Nothing,  Boy,  that  I  can  tell  you — absolutely 
nothing !" 

Verdayne  had  risen  again  and  was  once  more 
pacing  back  and  forth  under  the  trees,  as  was  his 
wont  when  troubled  with  painful  memories. 

"But  my  mother — you  knew  her!" 

"Yes,  yes — I  knew  your  mother!" 

"Tell  me  about  her !" 

A  dull,  hopeless  agony  came  into  the  eyes  of 
the  older  man.  And  so  his  Gethsemane  had  come 
to  him  again!  Every  life  has  this  garden  to  pass 
through — some,  alas !  again  and  yet  again !  And 
Paul  Verdayne  had  thought  that  he  had  long  since 
drained  his  cup  of  misery  to  the  dregs.  He  knew 
better  now. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you  of  your  mother,  Boy,"  he 
said,  and  there  was  a  strained,  guarded  note  in  his 
voice  which  his  companion's  quick  ear  did  not 
fail  to  catch.  "But  you  must  be  patient  if  you 
wish  to  hear  what  little  there  is,  after  all,  that  I 
can  tell  you.  You  must  remember,  my  Boy,  that 
it  is  a  long  time  since  your  mother — died — and 
men  of  my  age  sometimes — forget !" 

"I  will  remember,"  the  Boy  said,  gently. 


29 


ONE  DAY 

But  as  he  looked  up  into  the  face  of  his  friend, 
something  in  his  heart  told  him  that  Paul  Ver- 
dayne  did  not  forget!  And  somehow  the  older 
man  felt  confident  that  the  Boy  knew,  and  was 
strangely  comforted  by  the  silent  sympathy  be- 
tween them  which  both  felt,  but  neither  could  ex- 
press. 

"Your  mother,  Boy,  was  the  noblest  and  most 
beautiful  woman  that  ever  graced  a  throne. 
Everyone  who  knew  her  must  have  said  that! 
You  are  very  like  her,  Paul — not  in  appearance,  a 
mistake  of  Fate  to  be  everlastingly  deplored,  but 
in  spirit  you  are  her  living  counterpart.  Ah !  you 
have  a  great  example  to  live  up  to,  Boy,  in  at- 
tempting to  follow  her  footsteps!  There  was 
never  a  queen  like  her — never!" 

The  young  prince  followed  with  the  deepest  ab- 
sorption the  words  of  the  man  who  had  known 
his  mother,  hanging  upon  the  story  with  the 
breathless  interest  of  a  child  in  some  fairy  tale. 

"She  knew  life  as  it  is  given  few  women  to 
know  it.  She  was  not  more  than  thirty-five,  I 
think,  when  you  were  born,  but  she  had  crowded 
into  those  years  more  knowledge  of  the  world,  in 


ONE  DAY 

all  its  myriad  phases,  than  others  seem  to  absorb 
during  their  allotted  three  score  and  ten.  And  her 
knowledge  was  not  of  the  world  alone,  but  of  the 
heart.  She  was  full  of  ideals  of  advancement,  of 
growth,  of  doing  and  being  something  worthy  the 
greatest  endeavor,  exerting  every  hope  and  ambi- 
tion to  the  utmost  for  the  future  splendor  of  her 
kingdom — your  kingdom  now.  How  she  loved 
you! — what  splendid  achievements  she  expected 
of  you !  how  she  prayed  that  you  might  be  grand, 
and  great,  and  true!" 

"Did  you  always  know  her?" 

"Always? — no.     Only  for  three  weeks,  Boy!" 

"Three  weeks! — three  little  weeks!  How 
strange,  then,  that  you  should  have  learned  so 
much  about  her  in  that  short  space  of  time !  She 
must  indeed  have  made  a  strong  impression  upon 
you!" 

"Impression,  you  say?  Boy,  all  that  I  am  or 
ever  expect  to  become — all  that  I  know  or  ever 
expect  to  learn — all  that  I  have  done  or  ever  ex- 
pect to  accomplish — I  owe  to  your  mother.  She 
was  the  one  inspiration  of  my  life.  Until  I  knew 
her,  I  was  a  nonentity.  It  was  she  who  awak- 


ONE  DAY 

ened  me — who  taught  me  how  to  live!  Three 
weeks!  Child!  child! " 

He  caught  himself  sharply  and  bit  his  lip,  forc- 
ing back  the  impetuous  words  he  had  not  meant 
to  say.  The  silence  of  years  still  shrouded  those 
mysterious  three  weeks,  and  the  time  had  not  yet 
come  when  that  silence  could  be  broken.  What 
had  he  said?  What  possessed  the  Boy  to-day  to 
cling  so  persistently  to  this  hitherto  forbidden 
subject  ? 

"Where  did  you  meet  her,  Uncle  ?" 

"At  Lucerne!" 

"Lucerne !"  echoed  the  Boy,  his  blue  eyes  grow- 
ing dreamy  with  musing.  "That  says  nothing  to 
me — nothing!  and  yet — you  will  laugh  at  me,  I 
know,  but  I  sometimes  get  the  most  tantalizing 
impression  that  I  remember  my  mother.  It  is  ab- 
surd, of  course — I  suppose  I  could  not  possibly 
remember  her — and  yet  there  is  such  a  haunting, 
vague  sense  of  close-clinging  arms,  of  an  intensely 
white  and  tender  face  bending  over  me — some- 
times in  the  radiance  of  day  and  again  in  the  soft 
shadows  of  night,  but  always,  always  alight  with 
love— of  kisses,  soft  and  warm,  and  yet  often  tear- 


ONE  DAY 

ful — and  of  black,  lustrous  hair,  over  which  there 
always  seems  to  shine  a  halo — a  very  coronet  of 
triumphant  motherhood." 

Verdayne's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  from 
them  to  voice  the  passionate  cry  in  his  heart,  "My 
Queen,  my  Queen !" 

"I  suppose  it  is  only  a  curious  dream !  It  must 
be,  of  course !  But  it  is  a  very  real  vision  to  me, 
and  I  would  not  part  with  it  for  the  world. 
Uncle,  do  you  know,  I  can  never  look  upon  the 
pictured  face  of  a  Madonna  without  being  forcibly 
reminded  of  this  vision  of  my  mother — the  mother 
I  can  see  only  in  dreams !" 

Verdayne  found  it  growing  harder  and  harder 
for  him  to  speak. 

"I  do  not  think  that  strange,  Boy.  Others 
would  not  understand  it,  but  I  do.  She  was  so 
intensely  a  mother  that  the  spirit  of  the  great  Holy 
Mother  must  have  been  at  all  times  hovering 
closely  about  her!  Her  deepest  desires  centred 
about  her  son.  You  were  the  embodiment  of  the 
greatest,  sweetest  joys — if  not  the  only  real  joys — 
of  her  strangely  unhappy  life,  and  her  whole 
thought,  her  one  hope,  was  for  you.  In  your  soul 


33 


ONE  DAY 

must  live  all  the  unrealized  hopes  and  crucified 
ideals  of  the  woman  who,  always  every  inch  a 
queen,  was  never  more  truly  regal  than  in  the 
supreme  hour  that  crowned  her  your  mother." 

"And  am  I  like  her,  Uncle  Paul  ?  Am  I  really 
like  her?" 

"So  much  so,  Boy,  that  she  sometimes  seems  to 
live  again  in  you.  Like  her,  you  believe  so  thor- 
oughly in  the  goodness  and  greatness  of  a  God — 
in  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  world  fraught  with 
lessons  of  life  and  death — in  the  omnipotence  of 
Fate — in  the  truth  and  power  and  grandeur  of 
overmastering  love.  You  believe  in  the  past,  in 
all  the  dreams  and  legends  of  the  Long  Ago  still 
relived  in  the  Now,  in  the  capabilities  of  the 
human  mind,  the  kingship  of  the  soul.  Your  voice 
is  hers,  every  tone  and  cadence  is  as  her  own  voice 
repeating  her  own  words.  Be  glad,  Paul,  that  you 
are  like  your  mother,  and  hope  that  with  the 
power  to  think  her  thoughts  and  dream  her 
dreams,  you  may  also  have  the  power  to  love  as 
she  loved,  and,  if  need  be,  die  her  death !" 

"But  you  think  the  same  thoughts,  Uncle  Paul. 
You  believe  all  I  believe !" 


34 


ONE  DAY 

"Because  she  taught  me,  Paul — because  she 
taught  me !  I  slept  the  sleep  of  the  blind  and  deaf 
and  soulless  until  her  touch  woke  my  soul  into 
being.  You  have  always  been  alive  to  the  joy  of 
the  world  and  the  beauty  of  living.  Your  soul 
was  born  with  your  body  and  lived  purposefully 
from  the  very  beginning  of  things.  You  were 
born  for  a  purpose  and  that  purpose  showed  itself 
even  in  infancy." 

A  silence  fell  between  the  two  men.  A  long 
time  they  sat  in  that  sympathetic  communion,  each 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  The  older  Paul  was 
lost  in  memories  of  the  past,  for  his  life  lay  all  be- 
hind him — the  younger  Paul  was  indulging  in 
many  dreams  of  a  roseate  future,  for  his  life  was 
all  ahead  of  him. 

It  was  a  friendship  that  the  world  often  won- 
dered about — this  strange  intimacy  between  Paul 
Verdayne,  the  famous  Member  of  Parliament,  and 
the  young  man  from  abroad  who  called  himself 
Paul  Zalenska.  None  knew  exactly  where  Mon- 
sieur Zalenska  came  from,  and  as  they  had  long 
ago  learned  the  futility  of  questioning  either  of 
the  men  about  personal  affairs,  had  at  last  recon- 


35 


ONE  DAY 

tiled  themselves  to  never  finding  out.  Everyone 
suspected  that  the  Boy  was  a  scion  of  rank — and 
some  went  so  far  as  to  say  of  royalty,  but  beyond 
the  fact  that  every  May  he  came  with  his  faithful, 
foreign-looking  attendant  to  Verdayne  Place  and 
spent  the  summer  months  with  the  Verdayne  fam- 
ily, nothing  definite  was  actually  known.  His  el- 
derly attendant  certainly  spoke  some  beastly  for- 
eign jargon  and  went  by  the  equally  beastly 
foreign  name  of  Vasili.  He  was  known  to  wor- 
ship his  young  master  and  to  attend  him  with  the 
most  marked  servility,  but  he  was  never  ques- 
tioned, and  had  he  been,  would  certainly  have  told 
no  tales. 

The  parents  of  Paul  Verdayne — Sir  Charles 
and  Lady  Henrietta — were  very  fond  of  their 
young  guest,  and  made  much  of  his  annual  visits. 
As  for  Paul  himself,  he  never  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly happy  anywhere  if  the  young  fellow  were 
out  of  his  sight. 

He  had  made  himself  very  much  distinguished, 
had  this  Paul  Verdayne.  He  had  found  out  how 
to  get  the  most  out  of  his  life  and  accomplish  the 
utmost  good  for  himself  and  his  England  with 


ONE  DAY 

the  natural  endowments  of  his  energetic  and  am- 
bitious personality.  He  had  become  a  famous 
orator,  a  noted  statesman,  a  man  of  brain  as  well 
as  brawn.  People  were  glad  to  listen  when  he 
talked.  He  inspired  them  with  the  idea — so  near- 
ly extinct  in  this  day  and  age  of  the  world — that 
life  after  all  was  very  much  worth  the  living.  He 
stirred  languid  pulses  with  a  dormant  enthusi- 
asm. He  roused  torpid  brains  to  thought.  He 
had  ideas  and  had  also  a  way  of  making  other 
people  share  those  ideas.  England  was  proud  of 
Paul  Verdayne,  as  she  had  good  reason  to  be. 
And  he  was  only  forty-three  years  old  even  now. 
What  might  he  not  accomplish  in  the  future  for 
the  land  to  which  he  devoted  all  his  talents,  his 
tireless,  well-directed  activities  ? 

He  had  given  himself  up  so  thoroughly  to  politi- 
cal interests  that  he  had  not  taken  time  to  marry. 
This  was  a  great  disappointment  to  his  mother, 
Lady  Henrietta,  who  had  set  her  heart  upon  wel- 
coming a  daughter-in-law  and  a  houseful  of 
merry,  romping  grandchildren  before  the  sun  of 
her  life  had  gone  down  forever.  It  was  also  a 
secret  source  of  disappointment  to  certain  younger 


37 


ONE  DAY 

feminine  hearts  as  well,  who  in  the  days  of  his 
youth,  and  even  in  the  ripeness  of  later  years,  had 
regarded  Paul  Verdayne  with  eyes  that  found 
him  good  to  look  upon.  But  the  young  politician 
had  never  been  a  woman's  man.  He  was  chival- 
rous, of  course,  as  all  well-bred  Englishmen  are, 
but  he  kept  himself  as  aloof  from  all  society  as 
politeness  would  permit,  and  the  attack  of  the 
most  skillfully  aimed  glances  fell  harmless,  even 
unheeded,  upon  his  impenetrable  armor.  He 
might  have  married  wherever  he  had  willed,  but 
Society  and  her  fair  votaries  sighed  and  smiled  in 
vain,  and  finally  decided  to  leave  him  alone,  to 
Verdayne's  infinite  relief. 

As  for  the  Boy,  he  was  always,  as  I  have  said, 
a  mystery,  always  a  topic  for  the  consideration  of 
the  gossips.  Every  year  since  he  was  a  little 
fellow  six  years  old  he  had  come  to  Verdayne 
Place  for  the  summer;  at  first,  accompanied  by 
his  nurse,  Anna,  and  a  silver-haired  servant,  curi- 
ously named  Dmitry.  Later  the  nurse  had  ceased 
to  be  a  necessity,  and  the  old  servant  had  been 
replaced  by  Vasili,  a  younger,  but  no  less  devoted 
attendant.  As  the  Boy  grew  older,  he  had  learned 


ONE  DAY 

to  hunt  and  took  long  rides  with  his  then  youthful 
host  across  the  wide  stretch  of  English  country 
that  made  up  the  Verdayne  estates  and  those  of 
the  neighboring  gentry.  Often  they  cruised  about 
in  distant  waters,  for  the  young  fellow  from  his 
earliest  years  shared  with  the  elder  an  absorbing 
love  of  nature  in  all  her  varied  and  glorious  forms ; 
and  in  February,  always  in  February,  Verdayne 
found  time  to  steal  away  from  England  for  a  brief 
visit  to  that  far-off  country  in  the  south  of  Europe 
from  which  the  Boy  came.  Many  remembered 
that  Verdayne,  like  an  uncle  of  his,  Lord  Hubert 
Aldringham,  had  been  much  given  to  foreign 
travel  in  his  younger  days  and  had  made  many 
friends  and  acquaintances  among  the  nobility  and 
royalty  of  other  lands,  and  although  it  was 
strange,  they  thought  it  was  not  at  all  improbable 
that  the  lad  was  connected  with  some  one  of  those 
great  families  across  the  Channel. 

As  for  Paul  and  the  Boy,  they  knew  not  what 
people  thought  or  said,  and  cared  still  less.  There 
was  too  strong  a  bond  of  camaraderie  between 
them  to  be  disturbed  by  the  murmurings  of  a  wind 
that  could  blow  neither  of  them  good  or  ill. 


39 


ONE  DAY 

And  the  Boy  was  now  twenty  years  of  age. 

Suddenly  Paul  Zalenska  broke  their  long 
silence. 

"Do  you  know,  Uncle,  I  sometimes  have  a  queer 
feeling  of  fear  that  my  father  must  have  done 
something  terrible  in  his  life — something  to  make 
strong  men  shrink  and  shudder  at  the  thought— ~ 
something — criminal!  Oh,  I  dare  not  think  of 
that!"  he  went  on  hastily.  "I  dare  not — I  dare 
not !  I  think  the  knowledge  of  it  would  drive  me 
mad!" 

His  voice  sank  to  a  half-whisper  and  there  was 
a  note  of  horror  in  his  words. 

"But,  what  a  king  he  must  have  been ! — what  a 
miserable  apology  for  all  that  royalty  should  be 
by  every  law,  human  or  divine!  Why  isn't  his 
name  heralded  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
kingdom  in  paeans  of  praise?  Why  isn't  the 
whole  world  talking  of  his  valor,  his  beneficence, 
his  statesmanship  ?  What  is  a  king  created  a  king 
for,  if  not  to  make  history  ?" 

He  fought  silently  for  a  moment  to  regain  his 
self-control,  forcing  the  hideous  idea  from  him 


40 


ONE  DAY 

and  at  last  speaking  with  an  air  of  finality  beyond 
his  years. 

"No,  I  won't  think  of  it !  May  the  King  of  the 
world  endow  me  with  the  strength  of  the  gods  and 
the  wisdom  of  the  ancient  seers,  that  I  may  make 
up  by  my  efficiency  for  all  my  father's  deplorable 
lack,  and  become  all  that  my  mother  meant  me 
to  be  when  she  gave  me  to  the  world !" 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  in  a  passionate  appeal 
to  Heaven,  and  Paul  Verdayne,  looking  up  at  him, 
realized  as  he  had  never  before  that  the  Boy  cer- 
tainly had  within  him  the  stuff  of  which  kings 
should  be  made. 

The  Boy  was  not  going  to  disappoint  him.  He 
was  going  to  justify  the  high  hopes  cherished  for 
him  so  long.  He  was  going  to  be  a  man  after  his 
mother's  own  heart. 

"Uncle,"  went  on  the  Boy,  wrought  up  to  a 
high  pitch  of  emotion,  and  throwing  himself 
down  again  at  Verdayne's  feet,  "I  feel  with  Louis 
XVI,  'I  arn  too  young  to  reign !'  Why  haven't 
I  ever  had  a  father  to  teach  and  train  me  in  the 
way  I  should  go?  Every  boy  needs  a  good  father, 
princes  most  of  all,  so  much  more  is  expected  of  us 


ONE  DAY 

poor  royal  devils  than  of  more  ordinar  and  more 
fortunate  mortals!  I  know  I  shouldn'  be  com- 
plaining like  this — certainly  not  to  you,  Uncle 
Paul,  who  have  been  all  most  fathers  are  to  most 
boys !  But  there  are  times,  you  know,  when  you 
persist  in  keeping  me  at  arm's  length  as  you  keep 
everyone  else !  When  you  put  up  that  sign,  'Thus 
far  and  no  further !'  I  feel  myself  almost  a  stran- 
ger! Won't  you  let  me  come  nearer?  Won't  you 
take  down  that  barrier  between  us  and  let  me 
have  a  father — at  least,  in  name?  I'm  tired  of 
calling  you  'Uncle'  who  uncle  never  was  and  never 
could  be!  You're  far  more  of  a  father — really 
you  are !  Let  me  call  you  in  name  what  you  have 
always  been  in  spirit.  Let  me  say  'Father  Paul !' 
I  like  the  sound  of  it,  don't  you  ?  'Father  Paul !' 
—'Father  Paul!'" 

Paul  Verdayne  felt  every  drop  of  blood  leave  his 
face.  He  felt  as  if  the  Boy  had  inadvertently  laid 
a  cold  hand  upon  his  naked  heart,  chilling,  paralyz- 
ing its  every  beat.  What  did  he  mean  ?  The  Boy 
was  just  then  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  setting 
sun  and  did  not  see  the  change  that  his  words 


42 


ONE  DAY 

called  into  his  companion's  face — thank  heaven 
for  that ! — but  what  could  he  mean  ? 

"You  can  call  yourself  my  'Father  Confessor,' 
you  know,  if  you  entertain  any  scruples  as  to  the 
propriety  of  a  staid  old  bachelor's  fathering  a 
stray  young  cub  like  me — that  will  make  it  all 
right,  surely!  You  will  let  me,  won't  you?  In 
all  the  world  there  is  no  one  so  close  to  me  as  you, 
and  such  dreams  as  I  may  happily  bring  to  fulfill- 
ment will  be,  more  than  you  know,  because  of 
your  guidance,  your  inspiration.  You  are  the 
father  of  my  spirit,  whoever  may  have  been  the 
father  of  my  flesh !  Let  it  be  hereafter,  then,  not 
'Uncle,'  but  'Father  Paul' !  " 

And  the  older  man,  rising  and  standing  by  the 
Boy,  threw  his  arm  around  the  young  shoulders, 
and  gazing  far  off  to  the  distant  west,  felt  himself 
shaken  by  a  strange  emotion  as  he  answered, 
"Yes,  Boy,  hereafter  let  it  be  'Father  Paul !'  " 

And  as  the  sun  travelled  faster  and  faster  to- 
ward the  line  of  its  crossing  between  the  worlds  of 
night  and  day,  its  rays  reflected  a  new  radiance 
upon  the  faces  of  the  two  men  who  sat  in  the 
silent  shadows  of  the  park,  feeling  themselves 


43 


ONE  DAY 

drawn  more  closely  together  than  ever  before, 
thinking,  thinking-,  thinking- — in  the  eyes  of  the 
man  a  great  memory,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Boy  a 
great  longing  for  life! 


The  two  friends  ran  up  to  London  for  the  the- 
atre that  night,  to  see  a  famous  actor  in  a  popular 
play,  but  neither  was  much  interested  in  the  per- 
formance. Something  had  kindled  in  the  heart  of 
the  man  a  reminiscent  fire  and  the  Boy  was  think- 
ing his  own  thoughts  and  listening,  ever  listening. 

"I'm  several  kinds  of  a  fool,"  he  thought,  "but 
I'd  like  to  hear  that  voice  again  and  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  face  that  goes  with  it.  I  dare  say  she  is 
anything  but  attractive  in  the  flesh — if  she  is 
really  in  the  flesh  at  all,  which  I  am  beginning  to 
doubt — so  I  should  be  disenchanted  if  I  were  to 
see  her,  I  suppose.  But  I'd  like  to  know!"  Yet, 
after  all,  he  could  not  comprehend  how  such  a 
voice  could  accompany  an  unattractive  face.  The 
spirit  that  animated  those  tones  must  needs  light 
up  the  most  ordinary  countenance  with  character, 


44 


ONE  DAY 

if  not  with  beauty,  he  thought ;  but  he  saw  no  face 
in  the  vast  audience  to  which  he  cared  to  assign  it. 
No,  she  wasn't  there.  He  was  sure  of  that. 

But  as  they  left  the  building  and  stood  upon  the 
pavement,  awaiting  their  carriage,  his  blood 
mounted  to  his  face,  dyeing  it  crimson.  In  the 
sudden  silence  that  mysteriously  falls  on  even  vast 
crowds,  sometimes,  he  heard  that  voice  again ! 

It  was  only  a  snatch  of  mischievous  laughter 
from  a  brougham  just  being  driven  away  from  the 
curb,  but  it  was  unmistakably  the  voice.  Had  the 
Boy  been  alone  he  would  have  followed  the 
brougham  and  solved  the  mystery  then  and  there. 

The  laugh  rang  out  again  on  the  summer  even- 
ing air.  It  was  like  a  lilt  of  fairies'  merriment  in 
the  moonlit  revels  of  Far  Away !  It  was  the  note 
of  a  siren's  song,  calling,  calling  the  hearts  and 
souls  of  men!  It  was —  But  the  Boy  stopped 
and  shook  himself  free  from  the  "sentimental  rot" 
he  was  indulging  in. 

He  turned  with  a  question  on  his  lips,  but  Ver- 
dane  had  noticed  nothing  and  the  Boy  did  not 
speak. 


ONE  DAY 

Still  that  laugh  thrilled  and  mocked  him  all  the 
way  to  Berkeley  Square  and  lured  him  on  and  on 
through  the  night's  mysterious  dreams. 


46 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  the  drawing  room  of  her  mansion  on 
Grosvenor  Square,  Lady  Alice  Mordaunt 
was  pouring  tea,  and  talking  as  usual  the 
same  trifling  commonplaces  that  had  on  a  pre- 
vious occasion  excited  her  cousin's  disdain. 
Opposite  her  sat  her  mother,  Lady  Fletcher,  a 
perfect  model  of  the  well-bred  English  matron, 
while  Opal  Ledoux,  in  the  daintiest  and  fluffiest 
of  summer  costumes,  was  curled  up  like  a  kitten 
in  a  corner  of  the  window-seat,  apparently  en- 
grossed in  a  book,  but  in  reality  watching  the 
passers-by. 

From  her  childhood  up  she  had  lived  in.  a 
Castle  of  Dreams,  which  she  had  peopled  with  the 
sort  of  men  and  women  that  suited  her  own 
fanciful  romantic  ideas,  and  where  she  herself 
was  supposed  to  lie  asleep  until  her  ideal  knight, 
the  Prince  Charming  of  the  story,  came  across 


47 


ONE  DAY 

land  and  sea  to  storm  the  Castle  and  wake  her 
with  a  kiss. 

It  was  made  up  of  moonbeams  and  rays  of 
sunshine  and  rainbow-gleams — this  dream — 
woven  by  fairy  fingers  into  so  fragile  a  cobweb 
that  it  seemed  absurd  to  think  it  could  stand  the 
winds  and  torrents  of  Grown-Up  Land;  but 
Opal,  in  spite  of  her  eighteen  years,  was  still 
awaiting  the  coming  of  her  ideal  knight,  though 
the  stage  setting  of  the  drama,  and  her  picture 
of  just  how  the  Prince  Charming  of  her  dreams 
was  to  look,  and  what  he  would  say,  had 
changed  materially  with  the  passing  of  the  years. 

If  sometimes  she  wove  strange  lines  of  tragedy 
throughout  the  dreams,  out  of  the  threads  of 
shadow  that  flitted  across  the  sunshine  of  her 
life,  she  did  not  reject  them.  She  felt  they  be- 
longed there  and  did  not  shrink,  even  when  her 
young  face  paled  at  the  curious  self-pity  the 
passing  of  the  thought  invoked. 

Hers  was  a  strange  mixture,  made  up  of  an 
unusual  intermingling  of  many  bloods.  Born  in 
New  Orleans,  of  a  father  who  was  a  direct 
descendant  of  the  early  French  settlers  of  Louis- 


ONE  DAY 

iana,  and  of  a  Creole  mother,  who  might  have 
traced  her  ancestry  back  to  one  of  the  old  gran- 
dees of  Spain,  she  yet  clung  with  a  jealous  affec- 
tion to  the  land  of -her  birth  and  called  herself 
defiantly  "a  thorough-bred  American!"  Her 
mother  had  died  in  giving  her  birth,  and  her 
father,  while  she  was  still  too  young  to  remem- 
ber, had  married  a  fair  Englishwoman  who  had 
tried  hard  to  be  a  mother  to  the  strange  little 
creature  whose  blood  leaped  and  danced  within 
her  veins  with  all  the  fire  and  romance  of  for- 
eign suns.  Gay  and  pleasure-mad  as  she  usually 
appeared,  there  was  always  the  shadow  of  a 
heartache  in  her  eye,  and  one  felt  the  possibility 
of  a  tragedy  in  her  nature.  In  fact  one  felt  in- 
tuitively sorry — almost  afraid — for  her  lest  her 
daring,  adventurous  spirit  should  lead  her  too 
close  to  the  precipice  along  the  rocky  pathway 
of  life. 

She  was  thinking  many  strange  thoughts  as 
she  sat  looking  out  of  the  window.  Her  English 
cousins,  related  to  her  only  through  her  step- 
mother, yet  called  kin  for  courtesy's  sake,  had 
given  up  trying  to  understand  her  complexities, 


49 


ONE  DAY 

as  she  had  likewise  given  up  trying  to  explain 
herself.  If  they  were  pleased  forever  to  consider 
her  in  the  light  of  a  conundrum,  she  thought, 
why — let  them! 

After  a  while  the  ladies  at  the  tea-table  began 
to  chat  in  more  confidential  tones.  Opal  was 
not  too  oblivious  to  her  surroundings  to  notice, 
nor  to  grasp  the  fact  that  they  were  discussing 
her,  but  that  knowledge  did  not  interest  her. 
She  was  so  used  to  being  considered  a  curiosity 
that  it  had  ceased  to  have  any  special  concern 
for  her.  She  only  hoped  that  they  would  some- 
time succeed  in  understanding  her  better  than 
she  had  yet  learned  to  understand  herself.  It 
might  have  interested  her,  however,  had  she 
overheard  this  particular  conversation,  for  it 
shed  a  great  light  upon  certain  shades  of  char- 
acter she  had  discovered  in  herself  and  often 
wondered  about,  but  had  never  had  explained  to 
her. 

But  she  did  not  hear. 

"I  am  greatly  concerned  about  Opal,"  Lady 
Alice  was  saying.  "She  is  the  most  difficult 
creature,  Mamma — you've  no  idea  how  peculiar 


ONE  DAY 

— with  the  most  dangerous,  positively  immoral 
ideas.  I  do  wish  she  were  safely  married,  for 
then — well,  there  is  really  no  knowing  what 
might  happen  to  a  girl  who  thinks  and  talks  as 
she  does.  I  used  to  think  it  might  be  a  sort  of 
American  pose — put  on  for  startling  effect,  you 
know — but  I  begin  to  think  she  actually 
nieanb  it!" 

"Yes,  she  means  it,"  replied  Lady  Fletcher, 
lowering  her  voice  discreetly,  till  it  was  little 
more  than  a  whisper.  "She  has  always  had  just 
such  notions.  It  gives  Amy  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  and  worry  to  keep  her  straight.  You 
know — or  perhaps  you  didn't  know,  for  we  don't 
talk  of  these  things  often,  especially  when  they 
are  in  one's  family — but  there  is  a  bad  strain  in 
her  blood  and  they  are  always  looking  for  it  to 
crop  out  somewhere.  Her  mother  married  hap- 
pily— and  escaped  the  curse — but  for  several 
generations  back  the  women  of  her  family  have 
been  of  peculiar  temperament  and — they've 
usually  gone  wrong  sometime  in  their  lives.  It 
seems  to  be  in  the  blood.  They  can't  help  it. 
Mr.  Ledoux  told  Amy  all  about  it  at  the  time 


ONE  DAY 

of  their  marriage,  and  that  is  the  reason  they 
have  tried  to  keep  Opal  as  secluded  as  possible 
from  the  usual  free-and-easy  associations  of 
American  girls,  and  are  so  anxious  to  marry  her 
otT  wisely." 

"And  speedily,"  put  in  Alice — "the  sooner  the 
better!" 

"Yes,  yes — speedily!" 

Lady  Fletcher  gave  an  uneasy  glance  in 
Opal's  direction  before  she  continued. 

"You  are  too  young  to  have  heard  the  story, 
Alice,  but  her  grandmother — a  black-eyed  Span- 
ish lady  of  high  rank — was  made  quite  unpleas- 
antly notorious  by  her  associations  with  a 
brother  of  Lady  Henrietta  Verdayne.  He  was 
an  unprincipled  roue — this  Lord  Hubert  Ald- 
ringham — a  libertine  who  openly  boasted  of  the 
conquests  he  had  made  abroad.  Being  appointed 
to  many  foreign  posts  in  the  diplomatic  service, 
he  was  naturally  on  intimate  terms  with  people 
of  rank  and  royalty.  They  say  he  was  very  fas- 
cinating, with  the  devil's  own  eye,  and  ten  times 
as  devilish  a  heart " 

"Why,  Mamma!" 

52 


ONE  DAY 

Alice  was  shocked. 

"I  am  only  repeating  what  they  said,  child," 
apologized  the  elder  woman  meekly.  "Women 
will  be  fools,  you  know,  over  a  handsome  face 
and  a  tender  voice — some  women,  I  mean — and 
that's  what  Opal  has  to  fight  against." 

"Poor  Opal,"  murmured  Alice,  "I  did  not 
know!" 

"Some  even  go  so  far  as  to  say " 

Again  Lady  Fletcher  looked  up  apprehen- 
sively, but  Opal  was  still  absorbed  in  her 
dreams. 

"To  say — what,  Mother? 

"Well,  of  course  it's  only  talk — nobody  can 
actually  know,  I  suppose,  and  I  wouldn't,  of 
course,  be  quoted  as  saying  anything  for  the 
world,  dear  knows;  but  they  say  that  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  Opal's  mother  was  .  .  . 
Lord  Hubert's  own  daughter!" 

"Oh,  Mother!  If  it  is  true — if  it  could  be 
true — what  a  fight  for  her!" 

"Yes,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  with  Opal,  she 
won't  fight.  She  has  been  rigidly  trained  in  the 
principles  of  virtue  and  propriety  from  her  very 


53 


ONE  DAY 

birth,  and  yet  she  horrifies  every  one  at  times 
by  shocking  ideas — that  no  one  knows  where 
she  gets,  nor,  worse  yet,  where  they  may  lead!" 

"But  she  is  good,  Mother.  She  has  the 
noblest  ideas  of  charity  and  kindness  and  altru- 
ism, of  the  advancement  of  all  that's  good  and 
true  in  the  world,  of  the  attainment  of  knowl- 
edge, of  the  beauties  and  consolation  of  religion. 
It's  fine  to  hear  her  talk  when  she's  inspired — 
not  a  bit  preachy,  you  know — she's  certainly  far 
enough  from  that — but  more  like  reading  some 
beautiful  poem  you  can  but  half  understand,  or 
listening  to  music  that  makes  you  wish  you  were 
better,  whether  you  take  in  its  full  meaning 
or  not." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Lady  Alice.  Her 
mother  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  There  cer- 
tainly must  be  something  out  of  the  ordinary  in 
this  peculiar  American  cousin  to  wake  Alice 
from  her  customary  languor. 

Alice  smiled  at  her  mother's  surprise. 

"Strange,  isn't  it,  Mother?"  she  asked,  half 
ashamed  of  her  unusual  enthusiasm.  "But  it's 
true.  She'd  help  some  good  man  to  be  a  power 


ONE  DAY 

in  the  world.  I  feel  it  so  often  when  she  talks.  I 
didn't  know  women  ever  thought  such  thing's  as 
she  does.  I — I — I  believe  we  can  trust  her, 
Mother,  to  steer  clear  of  everything!" 

"I  hope  so,  Alice;  I  am  sure  I  hope  so,  but — 
I  don't  know.  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  mistake  to 
keep  her  so  much  alone.  It  gives  her  more  un- 
real ideas  of  life  than  actual  contact  with  the 
world  would  have  done." 

Opal  Ledoux  left  the  window  and  sauntered 
down  the  long  drawing-room  toward  the  table 
where  the  speakers  were  sitting. 

"What  are  you  talking  about? — me?" 

The  cousins  were  surprised  and  showed  it  by 
blushing  guiltily. 

Opal  laughed  merrily. 

"Dreary  subject  for  a  dreary  day!  I  hope  you 
found  it  more  interesting  than  I  have!"  And 
she  stretched  her  small  figure  to  its  utmost 
height,  which  was  not  a  bit  above  five  foot,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders  lazily. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Opal?"  asked  Lady 
Fletcher,  in  an  effort  to  change  the  subject,  look- 


ONE  DAY 

ing  with  some  interest  at  the  volume  that  the  girl 
carried. 

"Don't  ask  me — all  twaddle  and  moonshine! 
I  ought  not  to  waste  my  valuable  time  with  such 
trash.  There  isn't  a  real  character  in  the  book, 
not  one.  When  I  write  a  book,  and  I  presume  I 
shall  some  time,  if  I  live  long  enough,  I  shall 
put  people  into  it  who  have  real  flesh  and  blood 
in  them  and  who  do  startling  things.  But  I'll 
have  to  live  it  all  first !" 

"Live  the  startling  things,  Opal?  God  for- 
bid!" 

"Surely!    Why  not?" 

And  Opal  dropped  listlessly  into  a  chair, 
tossed  the  offending  book  on  a  table,  and  taking 
a  cup  of  tea  from  the  hand  of  her  cousin,  began 
to  sip  it  with  an  air  of  languid  indifference, 
which  sat  strangely  on  her  youthful,  almost 
childlike  figure. 

"By  the  way,  Alice,"  she  asked  carelessly, 
"who  was  the  young  man  who  stared  at  us  so 
rudely  last  night  as  we  drove  away  from  the 
theatre?" 


ONE  DAY 

"I  saw  no  young  man  staring,  Opal.  Where 
was  he?" 

"Why,  he  stood  on  the  pavement,  waiting,  I 
suppose,  for  his  carriage,  and  as  we  drove  away 
he  looked  at  me  as  though  he  thought  I  had 
no  right  to  live,  and  still  less  to  iaugh — I  believe 
I  was  laughing — and  as  we  turned  the  corner 
I  peeped  back  through  the  curtain,  and 
he  still  stood  there  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
light,  staring.  It's  impolite,  cousins — very! 
Gentlemen  don't  stare  at  girls  in  America!" 

"What  did  he  look  like,  Opal?"  asked  Lady 
Fletcher. 

"Like  a  Greek  god!"  answered  the  girl,  with- 
out a  second's  hesitation. 

"What!" 

Both  women  gasped,  simultaneously.  They 
were  dismayed. 

"Oh,  don't  be  shocked!  He  had  the  full  pan- 
oply of  society  war-paint  on.  He  was  certainly 
properly  clothed,  but  as  to  his  being  in  his  right 
mind,  I  have  my  doubts — serious  doubts!  He 
stared!" 

"I  hope  you  didn't  stare  at  him,  OpalP 


57 


ONE  DAY 

"Well,  I  did!  What  could  he  expect?  And  I 
laughed  at  him,  too!  But  I  don't  believe  he  saw 
me  at  all,  more's  the  pity.  I  am  quite  sure  he 
would  have  fallen  in  love  with  me  if  he  had!" 

"Opal!" 

Opal  was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself  now. 
She  did  enjoy  shocking  people  who  were  so  de- 
lightfully shockable! 

"Why,  'Opal'?"  and  her  mimicry  was  irresist- 
ible. "Don't  you  think  I'm  a  bit  lovable, 
cousin? — not  a  bit?  You  discourage  me!  I'm 
doomed  to  be  a  spinster,  I  suppose!  Ah,  me! 
And  I'd  far  rather  be  the  spinster's  cat !  Cats 
aren't  worried  about  the  conventions  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Happy  animals!  While  we 
poor  two-footed  ones  they  call  human — only  we 
aren't  really  more  than  half  so — have  to  keep 
our  claws  well  hidden  and  purr  'hypocritically, 
no  matter  how  roughly  the  world  rub's  our  fur 
the  wrong  way,  nor  how  wild  we  are  to  scratch 
and  spit  and  bristle!  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a 
cat,  Alice?" 

"Goodness,  child!    What  an  ide?'    I  am  very 


ONE  DAY 

well  contented,  Opal,  with  the  sphere  of  life  into 
which  I  have  been  placed!" 

"Happy,  happy  Alice!  May  that  state  of 
mind  endure  forever!  But  come!  Haven't  you 
an  idea,  either  of  you,  who  my  Knight  of  the 
Stare  can  be?" 

"You  didn't  describe  him,  Opal." 

Opal  opened  her  eyes  in  wide  surprise. 

"Didn't  I?  Why,  I  thought  I  did,  graphic- 
ally! A  Greek  god,  dressed  en  regie.  What 
more  do  you  want?  I  am  sure  anyone  ought  to 
recognize  him  by  that." 

Her  listeners  looked  at  her  in  real  consterna- 
tion, which  she  was  quhk  to  see.  Her  eyes 
danced. 

"Well,  if  you  insist  upon  details,  I  can  supply 
a  few,  I  guess,  if  I  try.  I  am  really  dying  of 
curiosity  to  know  who  he  is  and  why  he  stared. 
Of  course  I  didn't  look  at  him  very  closely.  It 
wouldn't  have  been — er — what  do  you  call  it? — 
proper.  And  of  course  I  could  not  see  clearly  at 
night,  anyway.  But  I  did  notice  he  was  about 
six  feet  tall.  Imagine  me,  poor  little  me,  look- 
ing up  to  six  feet!  With  broad  shoulders;  an 


59 


ONE  DAY 

athletic,  muscular  figure,  like  a  young  Hercules; 
a  well-shaped  head,  like  Apollo's,  covered  with 
curls  of  fair  hair;  a  smooth,  clear  skin,  with  the 
tint  of  the  rose  in  his  cheek  that  deepened  to 
blood-red  when  his  blue  eyes,  in  which  the  skies 
of  all  the  world  seemed  to  be  mirrored,  stared 
with  an  expression  like  that  of  a  man  upon 
whom  the  splendor  of  some  glorious  Paradise 
was  just  dawnin-g.  He  looked  like  an  English- 
man, yet  something  in  his  attitude  and  general 
appearance  made  me  think  that  he  was  not.  His 
hands " 

"Opal!  Opal!  What  do  you  mean?  How 
could  you  see  so  much  of  a  young  man  in  so 
short  a  time?  And  at  night,  too?" 

Opal  pouted. 

"You  wanted  a  detailed  description.  I  was 
trying  to  give  it  to  you.  As  I  told  you  at  the 
start,  I  couldn't  see  much.  But  anyway,  he 
stared!" 

"And  I  dare  say  he  wasn't  the  only  one  who 
stared !"  put  in  Lady  Alice  in  dry  tones  of  repre- 
hension. "I  can't  imagine  who  it  could  be,  can 
you,  mother?" 


60 


ONE  DAY 

"Not  unless  it  was  that  strange  young  Mon- 
sieur Zalenska — Paul  Zalenska,  1  believe  he  call* 
himself — Paul  Verdayne's  guest.  I  rather 
think,  from  the  description,  that  it  must  have 
been  he!" 

"Zalenska?  What  a  name!  I  wonder  if  he 
won't  let  me  call  him  Taul!'  "  said  the  incorrigi- 
ble Opal,  musingly.  "I  shall  ask  him  the  first 
time  I  see  him.  Paul's  a  pretty  name!  I  like 
that — but  I'll  never,  never  be  able  to  twist  my 
tongue  around  the  other.  He'd  get  out  of  hear- 
ing before  I  could  call  him  and  that  would  never 
do  at  all!  But  'Monsieur,'  you  say?  Why 
'Monsieur'?  He  certainly  doesn't  look  at  all 
like  a  Frenchman!" 

"No  one  knows  what  he  is,  Opal;  nor  who. 
That  is,  no  one  but  the  Verdaynes.  He  has 
always  made  a  mystery  of  himself." 

Opal  clapped  her  small  hands  childishly. 

"Charming!  My  ideal  knight  in  the  flesh! 
But  how  shall  I  attract  him?" 

She  knitted  her  brows  and  pondered  as  ser- 
iously as  though  the  fate  of  nations  depended 
upon  her  decision. 


61 


ONE  DAY 

"Shall  I  send  him  my  card,  Alice,  and  ask  him 
to  call?  Or  would  it  be  better  to  make  an  ap- 
pointment with  him  for  the  Park?  Perhaps  a 
'personal'  in  the  News  would  answer  my  pur- 
pose— do  you  think  he  reads  the  News,  or  would 
the  Times  be  better?  Come,  cousins,  what  do 
you  think?  I  am  so  young,  you  know!  Please 
advise  me." 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  a  charming  gesture 
of  helpless  appeal  and  the  ladies  looked  at  one 
another  in  horrified  silence.  What  unheard  of 
thing  would  this  impossible  girl  propose  next! 
They  would  be  thankful  when  they  saw  her  once 
more  safely  embarked  for  the  "land  of  the  free," 
and  out  from  under  their  chaperonage,  they 
hoped,  forever.  They  realized  that  she  was  quite 
beyond  their  restraining  powers.  Had  she  no 
sense  of  decency  at  all? 

The  door  opened,  callers  were  announced,  and 
the  day  was  saved. 

Opal  straightened  up,  put  on  what  she  called 
her  '"best  dignity"  and  comported  herself  in  so 
very  well-bred  and  amiable  a  manner  that  her 
cousins  quite  forgave  all  her  past  delinquencies 


62 


ONE  DAY 

and  smiled  approval  upon  the  charming  cour- 
tesy she  extended  to  their  guests.  She  could  be 
such  a  lady  when  she  would !  No  one  could  resist 
her!  And  yet  they  felt  themselves  sitting  upon 
the  crater  of  a  volcano  liable  to  erupt  at  any 
Tioment.  One  never  felt  quite  safe  with  Opal. 

But,  much  to  their  surprise  and  relief,  every- 
thing went  beautifully,  and  the  guests  departed, 
delighted  with  Lady  Alice's  "charming  Amer- 
ican cousin,  so  sweet,  so  dainty,  so  witty,  so  bril- 
liant, and  altogether  lovely — really  quite  a  dear, 
you  know!" 

But  for  all  that,  Lady  Alice  Mordaunt  and 
Lady  Fletcher  were  far  from  feeling  easy  over 
their  guest,  and  ardently  wished  that  the  girl's 
father  would  cut  short  his  visit  to  France  and 
return  to  take  her  back  with  him  to  America. 
And  while  these  two  worthy  ladies  worried  and 
fretted,  Opal  Ledoux  laughed  and  dreamed. 

And  in  a  big  mansion  over  in  Berkeley 
Square  Monsieur  Paul  Zalenska  wondered — and 
listened. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  a  whole  two  weeks  after  the  Boy's 
experience  at  the  theatre,  and  though  the 
echoes  of  that  mysterious  voice  still  rang 
through  all  his  dreams  at  night,  and  most  of  his 
waking  hours,  he  had  not  heard  its  lilt  again. 

Paul  Verdayne  smiled  to  himself  to  note  the 
youngster's  sudden  interest  in  society.  He  had 
not — strange  as  it  may  seem — been  told  a  word 
of  the  experience,  but  he  was  not  curious.  He 
certainly  knew  the  world,  if  anyone  knew  it,  and 
though  he  was  sure  he  recognized  the  symp- 
toms, he  had  too  much  tact  to  ask,  "Who  is  the 
girl?" 

"Let  the  Boy  have  his  little  secrets,"  he 
thought,  remembering  his  own  callow  days. 
"They  will  do  him  good."' 

And  though  the  Boy  felt  an  undue  sense  of 
guilt,  he  continued  to  keep  his  lips  closed  and 
his  eyes  and  ears  open,  though  it  often  seemed 

6s 


ONE  DAY 

so  utterly  useless  to  do  so.  Sometimes  he  won- 
dered if  he  had  dropped  to  sleep,  there  behind 
the  hawthorn  hedge  that  afternoon,  and 
dreamed  it  all. 

Verdayne  and  the  Boy  were  sitting  at  lunch- 
eon at  the  Savoy.  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Hen- 
rietta had  gone  down  to  Verdayne  Place  for  a 
week,  and  the  two  men  were  spending  most  of 
their  time  away  from  the  lonely  house  in  Berke- 
ley Square. 

That  day  they  were  discussing  the  Boy's 
matrimonial  prospects  as  proposed  by  the  Grand 
Duke  Peter — indeed,  they  were  usually  discuss- 
ing them.  The  Boy  had  written,  signifying  his 
acceptance  and  approval  of  the  arrangements  as 
made.  Nothing  else  was  expected  of  him  for 
the  present,  but  his  nature  had  not  ceased  its 
revolt  against  the  decree -of  Fate,  and  Paul  Ver- 
dayne shared  his  feeling  of  repugnance  to  the  ut- 
most. Perhaps  Verdayne  felt  it  even  more 
acutely  than  the  young  Prince  himself,  for  he 
knew  so  much  better  all  that  the  Boy  was  sacri- 
ficing. But  he  also  knew,  as  did  the  poor  royal 
victim  himself,  that  it  was  inevitable.. 


66 


ONE  DAY 

"I  don't  wonder  at  the  court  escapades  that 
occasionally  scandalize  all  Europe,"  said  the 
Boy.  "I  don't  wonder  at  all!  The  real  wonder 
is  that  more  of  the  poor  slaves  to  royalty  do  not 
snap  the  chains  that  bind  them,  and  bolt  for 
freedom.  It  would  be  like  me, — very  like  me!" 

And  Verdayne  could  say  nothing.  He  knew 
of  more  reasons  than  one  why  it  would  be  very 
like  the  Boy  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  he  sighed  as 
he  thought  that  some  time,  perhaps,  he  might 
do  it.  And  yet  he  could  not  blame  him! 

"Father  Paul,"  went  on  the  Boy,  his  thoughts 
taking  a  new  turn,  "you  are  a  bachelor — a  hope- 
less old  bachelor — and  you  have  never  told  me 
why.  Of  course  there's  a  woman  or  two  in  it! 
We  have  talked  about  everything  else  under  the 
sun,  I  think — you  and  I — but,  curiously  enough, 
we  have  never  talked  of  love!  Yet  I  feel  sure 
that  you  believe  in  it.  Don't  you,  Father  Paul? 
Come  now,  confess!  I  am  in  a  mood  for  senti- 
ment to-day,  and  I  want  to  hear  what  drove  you 
to  a  life  of  single  blessedness — what  made  my 
romantic  old  pal  such  a  confirmed  old  celibate! 
I  don't  believe  that  you  object  to  matrimony  on 

67 


ONE  DAY 

general  principles.  Tell  me  your  love-story, 
please,  Father  Paul." 

"What  makes  you  so  certain  that  I  have  had 
one,  Boy?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  just  why,  but  I  am  certain! 
It's  there  in  your  lips  when  you  smile,  in  your 
eyes  when  you  are  moved,  in  your  voice  when 
you  allow  yourself  to  become  reminiscent.  You 
are  full  of  memories  that  you  have  never  spoken 
of  to  me.  And  now,  Father  Paul — now  is  the 
accepted  time!" 

For  a  moment  Verdayne  was  nonplussed. 
What  could  he  reply?  There  was  only  one  love- 
story  in  his  life,  arid  that  one  would  end  only 
with  his  own  existence,  but  he  could  not  tell 
that  story  to  the  Boy — yet!  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, an  old,  half-forgotten  memory  flashed 
across  his  mind.  Of  course  'he  had  a  love-story. 
He  would  tell  the  Boy  the  story  of  Isabella 
Waring. 

So,  as  they  sat  together  over  their  coffee  and 
cigarettes,  Verdayne  told  his  young  guest  about 
the  Curate's  daughter,  who  had  all  uncon- 
sciously wielded  such  an  influence  over  the 


68 


ONE  DAY 

events  of  his  past  life.  He  told  of  the  girl's 
kindness  to  him  when  he  had  broken  his  collar- 
bone; of  her  assistance  so  freely  offered  to  his 
mother;  of  her  jolly,  lively  spirits,  her  amiable 
disposition  and  general  gay  good-fellowship; 
2nd  then  of  the  unlucky  kiss  that  had  aroused 
the  suspicion  and  august  displeasure  of  Lady 
Henrietta,  and  had  sent  her  erring  son  a  wan- 
derer over  the  face  of  Europe — to  forget ! 

He  painted  his  sadness  at  leaving  home — and 
Isabella — in  pathetic  colors.  Indeed,  he  became 
quite  affecting  when  he  pictured  his  parting 
with  Isabella,  and  when  in  repeating  his  parting 
words,  he  managed  to  get  just  the  right  sus- 
picion of  a  tremble  into  his  voice,  he  really  felt 
quite  proud  of  his  ability  as  a  story-teller. 

The  Boy  was  plainly  touched. 

"What  foolishness  to  think  that  such  a  love 
as  yours  could  be  cured  merely  by  sending  you 
abroad!"  he  said. 

"Just  what  I  thought,  Boy — utter  folly!" 

"Of  course  it  didn't  cure  you,  Father  Paul. 
You  didn't  learn  to  forget,  did  you?  Oh,  it  was 
cruel  to  send  you  away  when  you  loved  her  like 


ONE  DAY 

that!  I  didn't  think  it  of  Aunt  Henrietta — I 
didn't  indeed!" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  blame  mother,  Boy.  She 
meant  it  for  the  best,  just  as  your  Uncle  Peter 
now  means  it  for  the  best  for  you  and  yours. 
She  thought  I  would  forget." 

"Was  she  very,  very  beautiful,  Father  Paul? 
But  of  course  she  was,  if  you  loved  her !" 

"She  was  pretty,  Boy — at  least  I  thought  so." 

"Big  or  little?" 

"Tall— very  tall." 

"I  like  tall,  magnificent  women.  There's 
something  majestic  about  them.  I  hope  the 
Princess  Elodie" — and  the  Boy  made  a  wry  face 
— "will  be  quite  six  foot  tall.  I  could  never  love 
a  woman  small  either  in  body  or  mind.  I  am 
sure  I  should  have  liked  your  Isabella,  Father 
Paul.  Majestic  women  of  majestic  minds  for 
me,  for  there  you  have  the  royal  stamp  of  nature 
that  makes  some  women  born  to  the  purple. 
Yes,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  liked  Isabella.  Tell 
me  more." 

Paul  Verdayne  smiled.     He  should   hardly 


70 


ONE  DAT 

have  considered  Isabella  Waring  in  any  degree 
"majestic" — but  he  did  not  say  so. 

"She  was  charmingly  healthy  and  robust — 
athletic,  you  know,  and  all  that — with  light 
fluffy  hair.  I  believe  she  used  to  wear  it  in  a  net. 
Blue  eyes,  of  course — thoroughly  English,  you 
know — and  a  fine  comrade.  Liked  everything 
that  I  liked,  as  most  girls  at  that  age  didn't, 
naturally.  Of  course,  mother  couldn't  appreci- 
ate her.  She  wasn't  her  style  at  all.  And  she 
naturally  thought — mother  did,  I  mean — that 
when  she  sent  me  away  'for  my  health'  " — the 
Boy  smiled — "that  I'd  forget  all  about  her." 

Verdayne  began  to  think  he  wasn't  telling  it 
well  after  all.  He  looked  out  of  the  window.  It 
was  getting  hard  to  meet  the  frank  look  in  the 
Boy's  blue  eyes. 

"Forget!"  and  there  was  a  fine  scorn  in  the 
tones  of  the  young  enthusiast.  "But  you 
didn't!  you  didn't!  I'm  sure  you  didn't!" 

The  romantic  story  appealed  strongly  to  the 
Boy's  mood. 

"But  why  didn't  you  marry  her  when  you 
came  back,  Father  Paul?  Did  she  die?" 


ONE  DAY 

"No,  she  didn't  die.  She  is  still  living,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  marry  her,  Father 
Paul?  Did  they  still  oppose  it?  Surely  when 
you  came  home  and  they  saw  you  had  not  for- 
gotten, it  was  different.  Tell  me  how  it  was 
when  you  came  home." 

And  Paul  Verdayne,  in  a  voice  he  tried  his 
best  to  make  very  sad  and  heart-broken,  replied 
with  downcast  eyes,  "When  I  came  home,  Boy, 
I  found  Isabella  Waring  ready  to  marry  a 
curate,  and  happy  over  the  prospect  of  an  early 
wedding.  So,  you  see,  my  share  in  her  life  was 
over." 

The  Boy's  face  fell.  He  had  not  anticipated 
this  ending  to  the  romance.  How  could  any 
woman  ever  have  proved  faithless  to  his  Father 
Paul!  And  how  could  he,  poor  man,  still  keep 
his  firm,  dauntless  belief  in  the  goodness  and 
truth  of  human  nature  after  so  bitter  an  experi- 
ence as  this!  It  shocked  his  sense  of  right  and 
justice — this  story.  He  wished  he  had  not 
asked  to  hear  it. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,  Father  Paul.     It 


72 


ONE  DAY 

was  kind  of  you  to  open  your  past  life  to  me  like 
this,  and  very  unkind  of  me  to  ask  what  I  should 
have  known  would  cost  you  such  pain  to  tell.  I 
am  truly  sorry  for  it  all,  Father  Paul.  Thank 
you  again — and  forgive  me!" 

"It's  a  relief  to  open  one's  heart,  sometimes, 
to  one  who  can  sympathize,"  replied  Verdayne, 
with  a  deep  sigh.  But  he  felt  like  a  miserable 
hypocrite. 

Poor  Isabella  Waring!  He  had  hardly  given 
her  a  passing  thought  in  twenty  years.  And 
now  he  had  vilified  her  to  help  himself  out  of 
a  tight  corner.  Well,  she  was  always  a  good 
sort.  She  wouldn't  mind  being  used — or  even 
misused — to  help  out  her  "old  pal"  this  way. 
Still  it  made  him  feel  mean,  and  he  was  glad 
when  the  Boy  dropped  the  subject  and  turned 
again  to  his  own  difficulties. 

But  the  mind  of  the  young  prince  was  restive, 
that  day.  Nothing  held  his  attention  long.  It 
seemed,  like  his  eye,  to  be  roving  hither  and 
thither,  seeking  something  it  never  could  find. 

"You  have  been  to  America,  Father  Paul, 
haven't  you?"  he  asked. 


73 


ONE  DAY 

America?  Yes,  Verdayne  had  been  to  Amer 
ica.  It  was  in  America  that  he  had  passed  on^ 
season  of  keenest  anguish.  He  had  good  reason 
to  remember  it — such  good  reason  that  in  all 
their  wanderings  about  the  world  he  had  never 
seen  fit  to  take  the  Boy  there. 

But  something  had  aroused  the  young  fel- 
low's passing  interest,  and  now  nothing  would 
satisfy  him  save  that  he  must  hear  all  about 
America;  and  so,  for  a  full  hour,  as  best  he  could, 
Verdayne  described  the  country  of  the  far  West 
as  he  remembered  it. 

"Nothing  in  America  appealed  to  me  so 
strongly  as  the  gigantic  prairies,"  he  said  at  last. 
"You  were  so  deeply  moved  by  our  trip  to 
Africa,  Boy,  that  you  must  remember  the  im- 
pression of  vastness  and  infinity  the  great  desert 
made  upon  us.  Well,  in  the  glorious  West  of 
America  it  is  as  if  the  desert  had  sprung  to  life, 
and  from  every  grain  of  sand  had  been  born  a 
blade  of  grass,  waving  and  fluttering  with  the 
joy  of  new  birth.  Oh,  it  is  truly  wonderful, 
Paul!  Once  I  went  there  with  the  soil  of  my 
heart  scorched  as  dry  and  lifeless  as  the  burning 


74 


ONE  DAY 

sands  of  Sahara,  but  in  that  revelation  of  a  new 
creation,  some  pulse  within  me  sprang  myster- 
iously into  being  again.  It  could  never  be  the 
same  heart  that  it  once  was,  but  it  would  now 
know  the  semblance  of  a  new  existence.  And  I 
took  up  the  burden  of  life  again — albeit  a 
strange,  new  life — and  came  home  to  fight  it 
out.  The  prairies  did  all  that  for  me,  Boy !"  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  in  a  sadder 
tone.  "It  was  soon  after  that,  Paul,  that  I  first 
found  you." 

Paul  Zalenska  thought  that  he  understood. 
That,  of  course,  was  after  Isabella  Waring  had 
wrecked  his  life.  Cruel,  heartless  Isabella!  He 
had  never  even  heard  her  name  before  to-day, 
but  he  hated  her,  wherever  she  might  be! 

"There  is  a  legend  they  tell  out  there  that  is 
very  pretty  and  appropriate,"  went  on  Ver- 
dayne,  dreamily.  "They  say  that  when  the  Crea- 
tor made  the  world,  He  had  indiscriminately 
strewn  continents  and  valleys,  mountains  and  seas, 
islands  and  lakes,  until  He  came  to  the  western 
part  of  America,  and  despite  His  omnipotence, 
was  puzzled  to  know  what  new  glories  He  could 


OArE  DAY 

possibly  contrive  for  this  corner  of  the  earth. 
Something  majestic  and  mighty  it  must  be,  He 
thought,  and  yet  of  an  altogether  different 
beauty  from  that  in  the  rest  of  the  universe — 
something  individual,  distinctive.  The  seas  still 
overflowed  the  land,  as  they  had  through  past 
eternities,  awaiting  His  touch  to  call  into  form 
and  being  the  elements  still  sleeping  beneath 
the  water — the  living  representation  of  His 
thought.  Suddenly  stretching  out  His  rod,  He 
bade  the  waters  recede — and  they  did  so,  leav- 
ing a  vast  extent  of  grassy  land  where  the  majes- 
tic waves  had  so  lately  rolled  and  tossed.  And 
it  is  said  that  the  land  retains  to  thfe  day  the 
memory  of  the  sea  it  then  was,  while  the  grasses 
wave  with  a  subtle  suggestion  of  the  ocean's  ebb 
and  flow  beneath  the  influence  of  a  wind  that  is 
like  no  other  wind  in  the  world  so  much  as  an 
ocean  breeze;  while  the  gulls,  having  so  well 
learned  their  course,  fly  back  and  forth  as  they 
did  before  the  mystic  change  from  water  into 
earth.  Indeed,  the  first  impression  one  receives 
of  the  prairie  is  that  of  a  vast  sea  of  growing 
vegetation!" 

76 


ONE  DAY 

The  Boy's  eyes  sparkled.  This  was  the  fanci- 
ful Father  Paul  that  he  loved  best  of  all. 

"Some  time  we  must  go  there,  Father  Paul. 
"Is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,  Boy,  some  time!" 


77 


CHAPTER  V 

REBELLIOUS  thoughts  were  flitting  through 
the  brain  of  Paul  Zalenska  as  he  rode 
forth   the   next   morning,    tender  and 
fanciful  ones,  too,  as  he  watched  the  sun's  kisses 
fall  on  leaf  and  flower   and    tree,  drying    with 
their  soft,  insistent  warmth  the  tears  left  by  the 
dew  of  night,  and  wooing  all  Nature  to  awake — 
to  look  up  with  glorious  smiles,  for  the  world, 
after   all,    is   beautiful    and    full   of   love   and 
laughter. 

Why  should  not  Paul  be  happy?  Was  he  not 
twenty,  and  handsome,  and  rich,  and  popular, 
and  destined  for  great  things?  Was  there  a 
want  in  the  world  that  he  could  not  easily  have 
satisfied,  had  he  so  desired?  And  was  he  not 
officially  betrothed  to  the  Princess  Elodie  of 

Austria 

"Damn  the  Princess  Elodie!"   he  thought, 

79 


ONE  DAY 

with  more  emphasis  than  reverence,  and  he  rode 
along  silently,  slowly,  a  frown  clouding  his 
fresh,  boyish  brow,  face  to  face  with  the  prose  of 
the  existence  he  would  fain  have  had  all  romance 
and  poetry. 

It  had  all  been  arranged  for  him  by  well- 
meaning  minds — minds  that  could  never  see 
how  the  blessing  they  had  intended  to  bestow 
might  by  any  chance  become  a  curse. 

The  Boy  came  of  age  in  February  next — Feb- 
ruary nineteenth — but  it  had  been  the  strongly 
expressed  wish  of  his  mother  that  his  coronation 
should  not  take  place  until  May. 

For  was  it  not  in  May  that  she  had  met  her 
Paul? 

She  had  felt,  from  the  birth  of  the  young 
Prince,  a  presentiment  of  her  own  early  death, 
and  had  formed  many  plans  and  voiced  many 
preferences  for  his  future.  No  one  knew  what 
personal  reasons  the  Imperatorskoye  had  for  the 
wish,  but  she  had  so  definitely  and  unmistakably 
made  the  desire  known  to  all  her  councillors 
that  none  dreamed  of  disobeying  the  mandate  of 
their  deceased  and  ever-to-be-lamented  Queen. 

80 


ONE  DAY 

Her  slightest  wish  had  always  been  to  them  an 
unassailable  law. 

So  the  coronation  ceremonies  were  to  take 
place  in  the  May  following  the  Prince's  birthday, 
and  the  Regent  had  arranged  that  the  marriage 
should  also  be  celebrated  at  that  time.  Of 
course,  the  Boy  had  acquiesced.  He  saw  no  rea- 
son to  put  it  off  any  longer.  It  was  always  best 
to  swallow  your  bitterest  pill  first,  he  thought, 
and  get  the  worst  over  and  the  taste  out  of  your 
mouth  as  soon  as  possible. 

Until  that  eventful  time,  the  Prince  was  free 
to  go  where  he  pleased,  and  to  do  whatever  he 
wished.  He  had  insisted  upon  this  liberty,  and 
the  Regent,  finding  him  in  all  other  respects  so 
amenable  to  his  leading,  gladly  made  the  con- 
cession. This  left  him  a  year — that  is,  nearly  a 
year,  for  it  was  June  now — of  care-free  bachelor- 
hood ;  a  year  for  one,  who  was  yet  only  a  dreamy 
boy,  to  acquire  the  proper  spirit  for  a  happy 
bridegroom;  a  year  of  Father  Paul! 

He  rode  along  aimlessly  for  a  short  distance, 
scarcely  guiding  his  horse,  and  only  responding 
to  the  greetings  of  acquaintances  he  chanced  to 


81 


ONE  DAY 

meet  with  absent-minded,  though  still  irreproach- 
able, courtesy.  He  was  hardly  thinking  at  all, 
now — at  least  consciously.  He  was  simply  glad 
to  be  alive,  as  Youth  is  glad — in  spite  of  any 
possible,  or  impossible,  environment. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  feminine  rider 
some  paces  in  advance,  who  seemed  to  attract 
much  attention,  of  which  she  was — apparently 
— delightfully  unconscious.  Paul  marked  the 
faultless  proportions  of  her  horse. 

"What  a  magnificent  animal!"  he  thought. 
Then,  under  his  breath,  he  added,  "and  what  a 
stunning  rider!" 

She  was  only  a  girl — about  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen, he  should  judge  by  her  figure  and  the  girl- 
ish poise  of  her  small  head — but  she  certainly 
knew  how  to  ride.  She  sat  her  horse  as  though 
a  part  of  him,  and  controlled  his  every  motion  as 
she  would  her  own. 

"Just  that  way  might  she  manage  a  man," 
Paul  thought,  and  then  laughed  aloud  at  the 
absurdity  of  the  thought.  For  he  had  never 
seen  the  girl  before. 

Paul  admired  a  good  horsewoman — they  are 


82 


ONE  DAY 

so  pitifully  few.  And  he  followed  her,  at  a  safe 
distance,  with  an  interest  unaccountable,  even 
to  him.  Finally  she  drew  rein  before  one  of  the 
houses  facing  the  Row,  dismounted,  and  throw- 
ing the  train  of  her  habit  gracefully  over  her 
arm,  walked  to  the  door  with  a  brisk  step.  Paul 
instantly  likened  her  to  a  bird,  so  lightly  trip- 
ping over  the  walk  that  her  feet  scarcely  seemed 
to  touch  the  ground.  She  was  a  wee  thing — 
certainly  not  more  than  five  foot  tall — and 
petite,  almost  to  an  extreme.  The  Boy  had  ex- 
pressed a  preference,  only  a  few  days  before,  for 
tall,  magnificent  women.  Now  he  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  the  woman  for  a  man  to  love 
should  by  all  means  be  short  and  small.  He 
wondered  why  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  in 
that  light  before,  and  thought  of  Jacques'  ques- 
tion about  Rosalind,  "What  stature  is  she  of?" 
and  Orlando's  reply,  "As  high  as  my  heart!" 

The  girl  who  had  aroused  this  train  of 
thought  had  reached  the  big  stone  steps  by  this 
time,  and  suddenly  turning  to  look  over  her 
shoulder,  just  as  he  passed  the  gate,  met  his  gaze 

83 


ONE  DAY 

squarely.  Gad!  what  eyes  those  were! — full  of 
mystery  and  magnetism,  and — possibilities! 

For  an  instant  their  eyes  clung  together  in 
that  strange  mingling  of  glances  that  sometimes 
holds  even  utter  strangers  spellbound  by  its 
compelling  force. 

Then  she  turned  and  entered  the  house,  and 
Paul  rode  on. 

But  that  glance  went  with  him.  It  tormented 
him,  troubled  him,  perplexed  him.  He  felt  a 
mad  desire  to  turn  back,  to  follow  her  into  that 
house,  and  compel  her  to  meet  his  eyes  again. 
Did  she  know  the  power  of  her  own  eyes?  Did 
she  know  a  look  like  that  had  almost  the  force 
of  a  caress? 

He  told  himself  that  they  were  the  most  beau- 
tiful eyes  that  he  had  ever  seen — and  yet  he 
could  not  have  told  the  color  of  them  to  save 
his  soul.  He  began  to  wonder  about  that.  It 
vexed  him  that  he  could  not  remember. 

"Eyes!"  he  thought,  "those  are  not  eyes! 
They  are  living  magnets,  drawing  a  fellow  on 
and  on,  and  he  never  stops  to  think  what  color 
they  are — nor  care!" 


ONE  DAY 

Aud  then  he  pulled  himself  up  sharply,  and 
declared  himself  a  madman  for  raving  on  the 
street  in  broad  daylight  over  the  mere  acciden- 
tal meeting  with  a  pair  of  pretty  eyes.  He — the 
uncrowned  king  of  a  to-be-glorious  throne !  He 
— the  affianced  husband  of  the  Princess  Elodie 
of — Hell !  He  refused  to  think  of  it !  And  again 
the  horse  he  rode  and  the  Park  trees  heard  a  bit 
of  Paul  Zalenska's  English  profanity  that  should 
have  made  them  hide  in  shame  over  the  deprav- 
ity of  youth. 

But  the  strangest  thing  of  all  was  that  the 
Boy,  for  the  nonce,  was  not  thinking  of — nor 
listening  for — the  voice! 

He  turned  as  he  reached  the  end  of  the  Row 
and  rode  slowly  back.  But  the  horses  and 
groom  had  already  gone  from  the  gate.  And 
inwardly  cursing  his  slowness,  he  started  on  a 
trot  for  Berkeley  Square. 

He  was  not  very  far  from  the  Verdayne  house, 
when,  turning  a  sudden  corner,  he  came  upon 
the  girl  again,  riding  at  a  leisurely  pace  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Startled  by  his  unexpected 
appearance,  she  glanced  back  over  her  shoulder 


ONE  DAY 

as  she  passed,  surprising  him — and  perhaps  her- 
self, too,  for  girls  do  that  sometimes — by  a  ring- 
ing and  tantalizing  laugh! 

That  laugh!  Wonder  upon  wonders,  it  was 
the  voice! 

It  was  she — Opal! 

He  wheeled  his  horse  sharply,  but  swift  as  he 
was,  she  was  yet  swifter  and  was  far  down  the 
street  before  he  was  fairly  started  in  pursuit. 
His  one  desire  of  the  moment  was  to  catch  and 
conquer  the  sprite  that  tempted  him. 

Her  veil  fluttered  out  behind  her  on  the 
breeze,  like  a  signal  of  no-surrender,  and  once — 
only  once — she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder. 
She  was  too  far  ahead  for  him  to  catch  the  glint 
of  her  eye,  but  he  heard  the  echo  of  that  laugh 
— that  voice — and  it  spurred  him  on  and  on. 

Suddenly,  by  some  turn  known  only  to  her- 
self, she  eluded  him  and  escaped  beyond  his 
vision — and  beyond  his  reach.  He  halted  his 
panting  horse  at  the  crossing  of  several  streets, 
and  swore  again.  But  though  he  looked  search- 
ingly  in  every  possible  direction,  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  fugitive  to  be  seen.  It  was  as 


86 


ONE  DAY 

though  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed 
horse  and  rider  in  one  greedy  gulp. 

Baffled  and  more  disappointed  than  he  cared 
to  own,  Paul  rode  slowly  back  to  Berkeley 
Square,  his  heart  bounding  with  the  excitement 
of  the  chase  and  yet  thoroughly  vexed  over  his 
failure,  at  himself,  his  horse,  the  girl. 

At  the  house  he  found  letters  from  the  Re- 
gent awaiting  him,  recalling  to  him  his  position 
and  its  unwelcome  responsibilities.  One  of  them 
enclosed  a  full-length  photograph  of  his  future 
bride. 

Fate  had  certainly  been  kind  to  him  by  grant- 
ing his  one  expressed  wish.  The  Princess  Elodie 
was  what  he  had  desired,  "quite  six-foot  tall." 
Yet  he  pushed  the  portrait  aside  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture,  and  before  his  mental  vision  rose  a 
little  figure  tripping  up  the  steps,  with  a  back- 
ward glance  that  still  seemed  to  pierce  his  very 
soul. 

He  was  not  thinking,  as  he  certainly  should 
have  been,  of  the  Princess  Elodie!  And  he  had 
not  even  noticed  whether  she  had  any  eyes  or 
noU 


ONE  DAY 

He  looked  again  at  the  picture  of  the  Aus- 
trian princess,  lying  face  upward  upon  the  pile 
of  letters.  With  disgust  and  loathing  he  swept 
the  offending  portrait  into  a  drawer,  and  sum- 
moning Vasili,  began  to  make  a  hasty  toilet. 

Vasili  had  never  seen  his  young  master  in  such 
bad  humor.  He  was  unpardonably  late  for 
luncheon,  but  that  would  not  disturb  him,  surely 
not  to  such  an  extent  as  this! 

He  was  greatly  disturbed  by  something. 
There  was  no  denying  that. 

He  had  found  the  voice,  but 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  the  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table 
that  Paul  Zalenska,  listlessly  looking   over 
the  "Society  Notes"  in  the  Times,  came 
upon  this  significant  notice : 

"Mr.  Gilbert  Ledoux  and  daughter,  Miss 
Opal  Ledoux,  of  New  Orleans,  accompanied 
by  Henri,  Count  de  Roannes,  of  Paris,  have 
taken  passage  on  the  Lusitania,  which  sails 
for  New  York  on  July  3rd." 

It* was  she,  of  course! — who  else  could  it  be? 
Surely  there  could  not  be  more  than  one  Opal  in 
America ! 

"Father  Paul,  I  notice  that  the  Lusitania  is  to 
sail  for  America  on  the  third  of  July.  Can't  we 
make  it?" 

Verdayne  smiled  quietly  at  the  suddenness  of 


ONE  DAY 

the  proposal,  but  was  not  unduly  surprised.  He 
remembered  many  unaccountable  impulses  of  his 
own  when  his  life  was  young  and  his  blood  was 
hot.  He  remembered  too  with  a  tender  gratitude 
how  his  father  had  humored  him  and — was  he  not 
"Father  Paul"? 

"I  see  no  reason  why  not,  Boy." 

"You  see,  I  have  already  lost  a  whole  month 
out  of  my  one  free  year.  I  am  unwilling  to  waste 
a  single  hour  of  it,  Father  Paul — wouldn't  you 
be  ?  And  we  must  see  America  together,  you  and 
I,  before  I  go  back  to — prison !" 

"Certainly,  Boy,  certainly.  My  time  is  yours 
— when  you  want  it,  and  where  you  want  it,  the 
whole  year  through !" 

"I  know  that,  Father  Paul,  and — I  thank  you !" 

It  was  more  difficult  to  arrange  matters  with 
Lady  Henrietta.  She  was  not  so  young  as  she 
once  was  and  she  still  adored  her  son,  as  only  the 
mother  of  but  one  child  can  adore,  and  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  having  him  away  from  her.  Old 
and  steady  as  he  had  now  become,  he  was  still  her 
boy,  the  idol  of  her  heart.  Yet  she  felt,  as  her  son 
did,  that  the  Boy  was  entitled  to  the  few  months 


90 


ONE  DAY 

of  liberty  left  him,  and  she  did  not  greatly  object, 
though  there  was  a  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  as 
they  rested  on  her  son  that  told  how  keenly  she 
felt  every  separation  from  him. 

As  for  Sir  Charles,  he  had  not  lost  the  know- 
ing twinkle  of  the  eye.  Moreover,  he  knew  far 
better  than  his  wife  how  real  was  the  claim  their 
young  guest  had  upon  their  son.  And  he  bade 
them  go  with  a  hearty  grasp  of  the  hand  and  a 
bluff  Godspeed. 

So  it  was  settled  that  Verdayne  and  the  Boy, 
attended  only  by  Vasili,  were  to  sail  for  America 
on  the  third  of  July,  and  passage  was  immediately 
secured  on  the  Lusitania. 


On  the  morning  of  the  day  appointed,  Paul 
Zalenska  from  an  upper  deck  watched  the  party 
he  had  been  awaiting,  as  they  mounted  the  gang- 
plank. 

Gilbert  Ledoux  he  scarcely  noticed.  The 
Count  de  Roannes,  too,  interested  him  no  longer 
when,  with  a  hasty  glance,  he  had  assured  him- 


self  that  the  Frenchman  was  as  old  as  Ledoux 
and  not  the  gay  young  dandy  in  Opal's  train  that 
he  had  feared  to  find  him. 

He  had  eyes  alone  for  the  girl,  and  he  watched 
her  closely  as  she  tripped  up  the  gang-plank,  cling- 
ing to  her  father's  arm  and  chattering  gayly  in 
that  voice  he  so  well  remembered. 

She  was  not  so  small  at  close  range  as  she  had 
appeared  at  a  distance,  but  possessed  an  exquisite 
roundness  of  figure  and  softness  of  outline  well 
in  proportion  to  the  shortness  of  her  stature. 

He  had  been  proud  of  his  kingship — very  proud 
of  his  royal  blood  and  his  mission  to  his  little  king- 
dom. But  of  late  he  had  known  some  rebellious 
thoughts,  quite  foreign  to  his  mental  habit. 

And  to-day,  as  he  looked  at  Opal  Ledoux,  he 
thought,  "After  all,  how  much  of  a  real  man  can 
I  ever  be?  What  am  I  but  a  petty  pawn  on  the 
chessboard  of  the  world,  moved  hither  and  yon,  to 
gain  or  to  lose,  by  the  finger  of  Fate !" 

As  Opal  Ledoux  passed  him,  she  met  his  glance, 
and  slightly  flushed  by  the  rencontre,  looked  back 
over  her  shoulder  at  him  and — smiled !  And  such 


ONE  DAY 

a  smile !  She  passed  on,  leaving  him  tingling  in 
every  fibre  with  the  thrill  of  it. 

It  was  Fate.  He  had  felt  it  from  the  very  first, 
and  now  he  was  sure  of  it. 

How  would  it  end  ?    How  could  it  end  ? 

Paul  Zalenska  was  very  young — oh,  very 
young,  indeed  1 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  next  day  Verdayne  and  his  young  com- 
panion were  introduced  to  Mr.  Ledoux 
and  his  guest. 

Gilbert  Ledoux,  a  reserved  man  evidently  de- 
scended from  generations  of  thinking  people,  was 
apparently  worried,  for  his  face  bore  unmistakable 
signs  of  some  mental  disturbance.  Paul  Zalenska 
was  struck  by  the  haunted  expression  of  what 
must  naturally  have  been  a  grave  countenance.  It 
was  not  guilt,  for  he  had  not  the  face  of  a  man 
pursued  by  conscience,  but  it  certainly  was  fear — 
a  real  fear.  And  Paul  wondered. 

As  for  the  Count  de  Roannes,  the  Boy  dis- 
missed him  at  once  as  unworthy  of  further  con- 
sideration. He  was  brilliantly,  even  artificially 
polished  —  glaringly  ultra- fashionable,  ostenta- 
tiously polite  and  suave.  In  the  lines  of  his  bestial 
face  he  bore  the  records  of  a  lifetime's  profligacy 
and  the  black  tales  of  habitual  self-indulgence. 


95 


ONE  DAY 

Paul  hated  him  instinctively  and  wondered  how  a 
man  of  Ledoux's  unmistakable  refinement  could 
tolerate  him  for  a  moment. 

It  was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  following 
afternoon  that  Opal  Ledoux  appeared  on  deck, 
when  her  father,  with  an  air  of  pride,  mingled 
with  a  certain  curious  element  of  timidity,  pre- 
sented to  her  in  due  form  both  the  Englishman 
and  his  friend. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  young  people  flashed  a 
recognition  that  the  lips  of  each  tacitly  denied  as 
they  responded  conventionally  to  the  introduction. 

Paul  noticed  that  the  shadow  of  her  father's 
uneasiness  was  reflected  upon  her  in  a  somewhat 
lesser  but  all  too  evident  degree.  And  again  he 
wondered. 

A  few  moments  of  desultory  conversation  that 
was  of  no  interest  to  Paul — and  then  the  Count 
proposed  a  game  of  ecarte,  to  which  Verdayne  and 
Ledoux  assented  readily  enough. 

But  not  so  our  Boy ! 

Ecarte!  Bah!  When  did  a  boy  of  twenty 
ever  want  to  play  cards  within  sound  of  the  rustle 
of  a  petticoat  ? — and  such  a  petticoat ! 

96 


ONE  DAY 

When  the  elderly  gallant  noted  the  attitude  of 
the  young  fellow  he  cast  a  quick  glance  of  sus- 
picion at  Opal.  He  would  have  withdrawn  his 
proposal  had  he  been  able  to  find  any  plausible 
excuse.  But  it  was  too  late.  And  with  an  inward 
invective  on  his  own  blundering,  he  followed  the 
other  gentlemen  to  the  smoking-room. 

And  Paul  and  Opal  were  at  last  face  to  face — 
and  alone! 

He  turned  as  the  sound  of  the  retreating  steps 
died  away  and  looked  long  and  searchingly  into 
her  face.  If  the  girl  intended  to  ignore  their  for- 
mer meeting,  he  thought,  he  would  at  once  put 
that  idea  beyond  all  question.  She  bore  his  scru- 
tiny with  no  apparent  embarrassment.  She  was  an 
American  girl,  and  as  she  would  have  expressed 
it,  she  was  "game !" 

"Well  ?"  she  said  at  last,  questioningly. 

"Yes,"  he  responded,  "well — well,  indeed,  at 
last!" 

She  bowed  mockingly. 

"And,"  he  went  on,  "I  have  been  searching  for 
you  a  long  time,  Opal !" 


ONE  DAY 

He  had  not  intended  to  say  that,  but  having  said 
it,  he  would  not  take  it  back. 

Then  she  remembered  that  she  had  said  that  she 
would  call  him  "Paul"  the  first  time  she  met  him, 
and  she  smiled. 

"Searching  for  me?    I  don't  understand." 

"Of  course  not!  Neither  do  I!  Why  should 
we?  The  best  things  in  life  are  the  things  we 
don't — and  can't — understand.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Perhaps !"  doubtfully.  She  had  never  thought 
of  it  in  just  that  light  before,  but  it  might  be  true. 
It  was  human  nature  to  be  attracted  by  mystery. 
"But  you  have  been  looking  for  me,  you  say! 
Since  when? — our  race?"  And  her  laugh  rang 
out  on  the  air  with  its  old  mocking  rhythm. 

And  the  Boy  felt  his  blood  tingle  again  at  the 
memory  of  it. 

"But  what  did  you  say,  Monsieur  Zalenska — 
pardon  me — Paul,  I  mean,"  and  she  laughed 
again,  "what  did  you  say  as  you  rode  home 
again  ?" 

The  Boy  shook  his  head  with  affected  contri- 
tion. 

"Unfit  to  tell  a  lady!"  he  said. 


ONE  DAY 

And  the  girl  laughed  again,  pleased  by  his 
frankness. 

"Vowed  eternal  vengeance  upon  my  luckless 
head,  I  suppose!" 

"Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  think,"  said  Paul, 
pretending  to  reflect  upon  the  matter — "I  am  sure 
it  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  that !" 

"It  would  hardly  have  done,  would  it,  to  vow 
what  you  were  not  at  all  sure  you  would  ever  be 
able  to  fulfil  ?  Take  my  advice,  and  never  bank  a 
sou  upon  the  move  of  any  woman !" 

"You're  not  a  woman,"  he  laughed  in  her  eyes ; 
"you're  just  an  abbreviation !" 

But  Opal  was  not  one  whit  sensitive  upon  the 
subject  of  her  height.  Not  she ! 

"Well,  some  abbreviations  are  more  effective 
than  the  words  they  stand  for,"  she  retorted.  "I 
shall  cling  to  the  flattering  hope  that  such  may 
be  my  attraction  to  the  reader  whose  'only  books 
are  woman's  looks !' ' 

"But  why  did  you  run  away?" 

"Just — because!"  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Why 
did  you  follow  ?" 


99 


ONE  DAY 

"I  don't  know,  do  you  ?  Just — because,  I  sup- 
pose!" 

And  then  they  both  laughed  again. 

"But  I  know  why  you  ran.  You  were  afraid !" 
said  Paul. 

Her  eyes  flashed  and  there  was  a  fine  scorn  in 
her  tones. 

"Afraid — of  what,  pray?" 

"Of  being  caught — too  easily!  Come,  now — 
weren't  you  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  contradict  you  for  the  world,  Paul." 

She  lingered  over  his  name  with  a  cadence  in 
her  tone  that  made  it  almost  a  caress.  It  thrilled 
him  again  as  it  had  from  the  beginning. 

"But  I'll  forgive  you  for  running  away  from 
me,  since  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  be  with  you  now 
where  you  can't  possibly  run  very  far!  Strange, 
isn't  it,  how  Fate  has  thrown  us  together  ?" 

"Very!" 

There  was  a  dry  sarcasm  in  the  tones,  and  a 
mockery  in  the  glance,  that  told  him  she  was  not 
blind  to  his  manoeuvres.  Their  eyes  met  and  they 
laughed  again.  Truly,  life  just  then  was  exceed- 


100 


ONE  DAY 

ingly  pleasant  for  the  two  on  the  deck  of  the 
Lusitania. 

"But  I  was  looking  for  you  before  that,  Opal — 
long  before  that — weeks !" 

The  girl  was  truly  surprised  now  and  turned  to 
him  wonderingly.  Then,  without  question,  he 
told  her  of  his  overhearing  her  at  the  garden  party 
— what  a  long  time  ago  it  seemed ! — and  his  de- 
sire, ever  since,  to  meet  her. 

He  told  her,  too,  of  his  hearing  her  laugh  at 
the  theatre  that  night ;  but  the  girl  was  silent,  and 
said  not  a  word  of  having  seen  him  there.  Con- 
fidences were  all  right  for  a  man,  she  thought,  but 
a  girl  did  well  to  keep  some  things  to  herself. 

He  did  not  say  that  he  was  deliberately  follow- 
ing her  to  America,  but  the  girl  had  her  own  ideas 
upon  the  subject  and  smiled  to  herself  at  the  lively 
development  of  affairs  since  that  tiresome  garden 
party  she  had  found  so  unbearable.  Here  was  an 
adventure  after  her  own  heart. 

And  yet  Opal  Ledoux  had  much  on  her  mind 
just  then.  The  Boy  had  read  the  signs  upon  her 
face  correctly.  She  was  troubled. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  together,  and  looking 


JOI 


ONE  DAY 

far  out  over  the  vast  expanse  of  dancing1  blueness, 
they  spoke  of  life — and  the  living  of  it.  And 
both  knew  so  little  of  either! 

It  was  a  strange  talk  for  the  first  one — so  subtly 
intimate,  with  its  flashes  of  personality  and  free- 
dom from  conventions,  that  it  seemed  like  a  meet- 
ing of  old  friends,  rather  than  of  strangers.  Some 
intimacies  are  like  the  oak,  long  and  steady  of 
growth ;  others  spring  to  full  maturity  in  an  hour's 
time.  And  these  two  had  bridged  the  space  of 
years  in  a  few  moments  of  converse.  They  under- 
stood each  other  so  well. 

This  same  idea  occurred  to  them  simultaneous^ 
ly,  as  she  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  glowing 
with  a  quick  appreciation  of  some  well-expressed 
and  worthy '  thought.  Something  within  him 
stirred  to  sudden  life — something  that  no  one  else 
had  ever  reached. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  thought  he  had 
never  looked  into  the  eyes  of  a  woman  before. 
She  smiled — and  he  was  sure  it  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  seen  a  woman  smile ! 

"I  am  wild  to  be  at  home  again,"  she  was  say- 
ing, "fairly  crazy  for  America!  How  I  love  her 


IO2 


ONE  DAY 

big,  broad,  majestic  acres — the  splendid  sweep  ofr 
her  meadows — the  massive  grandeur  of  her  moun- 
tain peaks — the  glory  of  her  open  skies!  You 
too,  I  believe,  are  a  wanderer  on  strange  seas. 
You  can  hardly  fail  to  understand  my  longing  for 
the  homeland!" 

"I  do  understand,  Opal.  I  am  on  my  first  visit 
to  your  country.  Tell  me  of  her — her  institutions, 
her  people !  Believe  me,  I  am  greatly  interested !" 

And  he  was — in  her!  Nothing  else  counted  at 
that  moment.  But  the  girl  did  not  understand 
that — then ! 

For  half  an  hour,  perhaps,  she  lost  herself  in 
an  eloquent  eulogy  of  America,  while  the  Boy  sat 
and  watched  her,  catching  the  import  of  but  little 
that  she  said,  it  must  be  confessed,  but  drinking 
in  every  detail  of  her  expressive  countenance,  her 
flashing,  lustrous  eyes,  her  red,  impulsive  lips  and 
rounded  form,  and  her  white,  slender  hands,  al- 
ways employed  in  the  expression  of  a  thought  or 
as  the  outlet  for  some  passing  emotion.  He  caught 
himself  watching  for  the  occasional  glimpses  of 
her  small  white  teeth  between  the  rose  of  her  lips. 
He  saw  in  her  eyes  the  violet  sparks  of  smoulder- 


103 


ONE  DAY 

ing  fires,  kindled  by  the  volcanic  heart  sometimes 
throbbing  and  threatening  so  close  to  the  surface. 
When  the  eruption  came! —  Fascinated  he 
watched  the  rise  and  sweep  of  her  white  arm. 
Every  line  and  curve  of  her  body  was  full  of  sug- 
gestion of  the  ardent  and  restless  and  impulsive 
temperament  with  which  nature  had  so  lavishly 
endowed  her.  She  was  alive  with  feeling — alive 
to  the  finger-tips  with  the  joy  of  life,  the  fullness 
of  a  deep,  emotional  nature. 

It  occurred  to  Paul  that  nature  had  purposely 
left  her  body  so  small,  albeit  so  beautifully 
rounded,  that  it  might  devote  all  its  powers  to  the 
building  therein  of  a  magnificent,  flaming  soul — 
that  her  inner  nature  might  always  triumph.  But 
Opal  had  never  been  especially  conscious  of  a  soul 
— scarcely  of  a  body.  She  had  not  yet  found 
herself. 

Paul's  emotions  were  in  such  chaotic  rebellion 
that  the  thunder  of  his  heart-beats  mingled  with 
the  pulse  hammering  through  his  brain  and  made 
him  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  curiously  deaf  to 
his  own  thoughts. 

As  she  met  his  eye,  expressing  more  than  he 


104 


ONE  DAY 

realized  of  the  storm  within,  her  own  fell  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  apprehension.  She  rose  and 
looked  far  out  over  the  restless  waves  with  a  sud- 
den flush  on  her  dimpled  cheek,  a  subtle  excite- 
ment in  her  rapid  words. 

"As  for  our  men,  Paul,  they  are  only  human 
beings,  but  mighty  with  that  strength  of  physique 
and  perfect  development  of  mind  that  makes  for 
power.  They  are  men  of  dauntless  purpose. 
They  are  men  of  pure  thoughts  and  lofty  ideals. 
They  know  what  they  want  and  bend  every  ambi- 
tion and  energy  to  its  attainment.  Of  course  I 
speak  of  the  average  American — the  type!  The 
normal  American  is  a  born  fighter.  Yes,  that  is 
the  key-note  of  American  supremacy!  We  never 
give  up !  never !  In  my  country,  what  men  want, 
they  get !" 

She  raised  her  hand  in  a  quaint,  expressive  ges- 
ture, and  the  loose  sleeve  fell  back,  leaving  her 
white  arm  bare.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes 
glowing. 

"And  in  my  country,  what  men  want,  they 
take!"  he  responded  fiercely — almost  bratally  and 
without  a  second's  warning  Paul  threw  his  arms 


105 


ONE  DAY 

about  her  and  crashed  her  against  his  breast.  He 
pressed  his  lips  mercilessly  upon  her  own,  holding 
them  in  a  kiss  that  seemed  to  Opal  would  never 
end. 

"How — how  dare  you!"  she  gasped,  when  at 
last  she  escaped  his  grasp  and  faced  him  in  the 
fury  of  outraged  girlhood.  "I — I — hate  you !" 

"Dare?  When  one  loves  one  dares  anything!" 
was  his  husky  response.  "I  shall  have  had  my 
kiss  and  you  can  never  forget  that!  Never! 
never !" 

And  Paul's  voice  grew  exultant. 

Opal  had  heard  of  the  brutality,  the  barbarism 
of  passion,  but  her  life  had  flowed  along 
conventional  channels  as  peacefully  as  a  quiet 
river.  She  had  longed  to  believe  in  the  fury  of 
love — in  that  irresistible  attraction  between  men 
and  women.  It  appealed  to  her  as  it  naturally 
appeals  to  all  women  who  are  alive  with  the  in- 
tensity of  life.  But  she  had  seen  nothing  of  it. 

Now  she  looked  living  Passion  in  the  face  for 
the  first  time,  and  was  appalled — half  frightened, 
half  fascinated — by  the  revelation.  That  kiss 
seemed  to  scorch  her  lips  with  a  fire  she  had  never 


(io6 


ONE  DAY 

dreamed  of.  With  the  universal  instinct  of  shamed 
womanhood,  she  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her 
lips,  rubbing  fiercely  at  the  soiled  spot.  He  di- 
vined her  thought  and  laughed,  with  a  note  of 
exultation  that  stirred  her  Southern  blood. 

In  defiance  she  raised  her  eyes  and  searched  his 
face,  seeking  some  solution  of  the  mystery  of  her 
own  heart's  strange,  rebellious  throbbing.  What 
could  it  mean  ? 

Paul  took  another  step  toward  her,  his  face  soft- 
ening to  tenderness. 

"What  is  it,  Opal?"  he  breathed. 

"I  was — trying — to  understand  you." 

"I  don't  understand  myself  sometimes — cer- 
tainly not  to-day !" 

"I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman!" 

(I  wonder  if  Eve  didn't  say  that  to  Adam  in 
the  garden!) 

"I  have  been  accustomed  to  entertain  that  same 
idea  myself,"  he  said,  "but,  after  all,  what  is  it  to 
be  a  gentleman  ?  All  men  can  be  gentle  when  they 
get  what  they  want.  That's  no  test  of  gentility. 
It  takes  circumstances  outside  the  normal  to  prove 
man's  civilization.  When  his  desires  meet  with 


107 


ONE  DAY 

opposition  the  brute  comes  to  the  surface — that's 
all." 

Another  rush  of  passion  lighted  his  eyes  and 
sought  its  reflection  in  hers.  Opal  turned  and 
fled. 


In  the  seclusion  of  her  stateroom  Opal  faced 
herself  resolutely.  A  sensation  of  outrage  min- 
gled with  a  strange  sense  of  guilt.  Her  resent- 
ment seemed  to  blend  with  something  resembling 
a  strange,  fierce  joy.  She  tried  to  fight  it  down, 
but  it  would  not  be  conquered. 

Why  was  he  so  handsome,  so  brilliant,  this 
strange  foreign  fellow  whom  she  felt  intuitively  to 
be  more  than  he  claimed  to  be?  What  was  the 
secret  of  his  power  that  even  in  the  face  of  this 
open  insult  she  could  not  be  as  angry  as  she  knew 
she  should  have  been? 

She  looked  in  the  mirror  apprehensively.  No, 
there  was  no  sign  of  that  terrible  kiss.  And  yet 
she  felt  as  though  all  the  world  must  have  seen  had 
they  looked  at  her — felt  that  she  was  branded  for- 
ever by  the  burning  touch  of  his  lips ! 


108 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  not  until  the  dinner  hour  on  the  follow- 
ing day  that  Paul  and  Opal  met  again.    One 
does  not  require  an  excuse  for  keeping  to 
one's  stateroom  during  an  ocean  voyage — espe- 
cially during  the  first  few  days — and  the  girl, 
though  in  excellent  health  and  a  capital  sailor,  kept 
herself  secluded. 

She  wanted  to  understand  herself  and  to  under- 
stand this  stranger  who  was  yet  no  stranger.  For 
a  girl  who  had  looked  upon  life  as  she  had  she  felt 
woefully  unsophisticated.  But  the  Boy  ?  He  was 
certainly  not  a  man  of  the  world,  who  through 
years  of  lurid  experience  had  learned  to  look  upon 
all  women  as  his  legitimate  quarry.  If  he  had 
been  that  sort,  she  told  herself,  she  would  have 
been  on  her  guard  instinctively  from  the  very  first 
But  she  knew  he  was  too  young  for  that — far  too 
young — and  his  eyes  were  frank  and  clear  and 
open,  with  no  dark  secrets  behind  their  curtained 
lids.  But  what  was  he — and  who? 


109 


ONE  DAY 

When  the  day  was  far  spent,  she  knew  that  shfi 
was  no  nearer  a  solution  than  she  had  been  at 
dawn,  so  she  resolved  to  join  the  group  at  table 
and  put  behind  her  the  futile  labor  of  self-exam- 
ination. She  would  not,  of  course,  deign  to  show 
any  leniency  toward  the  offender — indeed  not! 
She  would  not  vouchsafe  one  unnecessary  word 
for  his  edification. 

But  she  took  elaborate  care  with  her  toilet,  se- 
lected her  most  becoming  gown  and  drove  her 
maid  into  a  frenzy  by  her  variations  of  taste  and 
temper. 

It  was  truly  a  very  bewitching  Opal  who  finally 
descended  to  the  salon  and  joined  the  party  of  four 
masculine  incapables  who  had  spent  the  day  in 
vain  search  for  amusement.  Paul  Zalenska  rose 
hastily  at  her  entrance  and  though  she  made  many 
attempts  to  avoid  his  gaze  she  was  forced  at  last 
to  meet  it.  The  electric  spark  of  understanding 
flashed  from  eye  to  eye,  and  both  thrilled  in  an- 
swer to  its  magnetic  call.  In  the  glance  that 
passed  between  them  was  lurking  the  memory  of 
a  kiss. 


IIO 


ONE  DAY 

Opal  blushed  faintly.  How  dare  he  remember ! 
Why,  his  very  eyes  echoed  that  triumphant  laugh 
she  could  not  forget  She  stole  another  glance 
at  him.  Perhaps  she  had  misjudged  him — but — 

She  turned  to  respond  to  the  greeting  of  her 
father  and  the  other  two  gentlemen,  and  soon 
found  herself  seated  at  the  table  opposite  the  Boy 
she  had  so  recently  vowed  to  shun.  Well,  she 
needn't  talk  to  him,  that  was  one  consolation. 
Yet  she  caught  herself  almost  involuntarily  listen- 
ing for  what  he  would  say  at  this  or  that  turn  of 
the  conversation  and  paying  strict — though  veiled 
— attention  to  his  words. 

It  was  a  strange  dinner.  No  one  felt  at  ease. 
The  air  was  charged  with  something  that  all  felt 
too  tangibly  oppressive,  yet  none  could  define,  save 
the  two — who  would  not. 


For  Paul  the  evening  was  a  dismal  failure.  Try 
as  he  would,  he  could  not  catch  Opal's  eye  again, 
nor  secure  more  than  the  most  meagre  replies 
even  to  his  direct  questions.  She  was  too  French 


ill 


ONE  DAY 

to  be  actually  impolite,  but  she  interposed  between 
them  those  barriers  only  a  woman  can  raise.  She 
knew  that  Paul  was  mad  for  a  word  with  her; 
she  knew  that  she  was  tormenting  and  tantalizing 
him  almost  beyond  endurance;  she  felt  his  impa- 
tience in  every  nerve  of  her,  with  that  mysterious 
sixth  sense  some  women  are  endowed  with,  and 
she  rejoiced  in  her  power  to  make  him  suffer.  He 
deserved  to  suffer,  she  said.  Perhaps  he'd  have 
some  idea  of  the  proper  respect  due  the  next  girl 
he  met!  These  foreigners!  Mon  Dieu!  She'd 
teach  him  that  American  girls  were  a  little  'differ- 
ent from  the  kind  they  had  in  his  country,  where 
"what  men  want,  they  take,"  as  he  had  said. 
What  kind  of  heathen  was  he  ? 

And  she  watched  him  surreptitiously  from  un- 
der her  long  lashes  with  a  curious  gleam  of  satis- 
faction in  her  eyes.  She  had  always  known  she 
had  this  power  over  men,  but  she  had  never  cared 
quite  so  much  about  using  it  before  and  had  been 
more  annoyed  than  gratified  by  the  effect  her  per- 
sonality had  had  upon  her  masculine  world. 

So  she  smiled  at  the  "Count,  she  laughed  with 
the  Count  and  made  eyes  most  shamelessly  at  the 


112 


ONE  DAY 

disgusting-  old  gallant  till  something  in  his  face 
warned  her  that  she  had  reached  a  point  beyond 
which  even  her  audacity  dared  not  go. 

Heavens !  how  the  old  monster  would  devour  a 
woman,  she  thought,  with  a  thrill  of  disgust. 
There  were  awful  things  in  his  face! 

And  the  Boy  glared  at  de  Roannes  with  un- 
speakable profanity  in  his  eyes,  while  the  girl 
laughed  to  herself  and  enjoyed  it  all  as  girls  do 
enjoy  that  sort  of  thing. 

It  was  delightful,  this  game  of  speaking  eyes 
and  lips. 

"Oh,  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is  1 
And  the  little  less,  and  what  worlds  away !" 

But  it  was,  as  she  could  dimly  see,  a  game  that 
might  prove  exceedingly  dangerous  to  play, and  the 
Count  had  spoiled  it  all,  anyway.  And  a  curious 
flutter  in  her  heart,  as  she  watched  the  Boy  take 
his  punishment  with  as  good  grace  as  possible, 
pled  for  his  pardon  until  she  finally  desisted  and 
bade  the  little  company  good  night. 

At  her  departure  the  men  took  a  turn  at  bridge, 


ONE  DAY 

but  none  of  them  seemed  to  care  much  for  the 
cards  that  night  and  the  Boy  soon  broke  away. 
He  was  about  to  withdraw  to  his  stateroom  in 
chagrin  when  quite  unexpectedly  he  found  Opal 
standing  by  the  rail,  wrapped  in  a  long  cloak. 
She  was  gazing  far  out  toward  the  distant  hori- 
zon, the  light  of  strange,  puzzling  thoughts  in  the 
depths  of  her  eyes.  She  did  not  notice  him  until 
he  stood  by  her  side,  when  she  turned  and  faced 
him  defiantly. 

"Opal,"  he  said,  "there  was  one  poet  of  life 
and  love  whom  we  did  not  quote  in  our  little  dis- 
cussion to-night.  Do  you  remember  Tennyson's 
words, 

"  'A  man  had  given  all  earthly  bliss 
And  all  his  worldly  worth  for  this, 
To  waste  his  whole  heart  in  one  kiss 
Upon  her  perfect  lips?' 

Let  them  plead  for  me  the  pardon  I  know  no  bet- 
ter way  to  sue  for— or  explain !" 

The  girl  was  silent.  That  little  flutter  in  her 
heart  was  pleading  for  him,  but  her  head  was 
still  rebellious,  and  she  knew  not  which  would 


114 


ONE  DAY 

triumph.  She  put  one  white  finger  on  her  lip,  and 
wondered  what  to  say  to  him.  She  would  not 
look  into  his  eyes — they  bothered  her  quite  be- 
yond all  reason — so  she  looked  at  the  deck  in- 
stead, as  though  hoping  to  find  some  rule  of  con- 
duct there. 

"I  am  sorry,  Opal,"  went  on  the  pleading  tones, 
"that  is,  sorry  that  it  offended  you.  I  can't  be 
sorry  that  I  did  it — yet!" 

After  a  moment  of  serious  reflection,  she  looked 
up  at  him  sternly. 

"It  was  a  very  rude  thing  to  do,  Paul!  No 
one  ever " 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that,  Opal?  Did 
you  think  that  I  thought " 

"How  was  I  to  know  what  you  thought,  Paul  ? 
You  didn't  know  me !" 

"Oh,  but  I  do.  Better  than  you  know  your- 
self!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  a  startled  ex- 
pression in  her  soft,  lustrous  eyes. 

"I — almost — believe  you  do — Paul." 

"Opal!"  He  paused.  She  was  tempting  him 
again.  Didn't  she  know  it? 


ONE  DAY 

"Opal,  can't — won't  you  believe  in  me?  Don't 
you  feel  that  you  know  me?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do — even  yet — after — 
that !  Oh,  Paul,  are  you  sure  that  you  know  your- 
self?" 

"No,  not  sure,  but  I'm  beginning  to!" 

She  made  no  reply.  After  a  moment,  he  said 
softly,  "You  haven't  said  that  you  forgive  me, 
yet,  Opal!  I  know  there  is  no  plausible  excuse 
for  me,  but — listen!  I  couldn't  help  it — I  truly 
couldn't!  You  simply  must  forgive  me!" 

"Couldn't  help  it?"— Oh,  the  scorn  of  her  re- 
ply. "If  there  had  been  any  man  in  you  at  all, 
you  could  have  helped  it !" 

"No,  Opal,  you  don't  understand!  It  is  be- 
cause I  am  a  man  that  I  couldn't  help  it.  It 
doesn't  strike  you  that  way  now,  I  know,  but — 
some  day  you  will  see  it !" 

And  suddenly  she  did  see  it.  And  she  reached 
out  her  hand  to  him,  and  whispered,  "Then  let's 
forget  all  about  it.  I  am  willing  to — if  you  will !" 

Forget  ?  He  would  not  promise  that.  He  did 
not  wish  to  forget!  And  she  looked  so  pretty 
and  provoking  as  she  said  it,  that  he  wanted  to—! 

II* 


ONE  DAY 

But  he  only  took  her  hand,  and  looked  his  grati- 
tude into  her  eyes. 

•The  Count  de  Roannes  came  unexpectedly  and 
unobserved  upon  the  climax  of  the  little  scene, 
and  read  into  it  more  significance  than  it  really 
had.  It  was  not  strange,  perhaps,  that  to  him 
this  meeting  should  savour  of  clandestine  rela- 
tions and  that  he  should  impute  to  it  false  motives 
and  impulses.  The  Count  prided  himself  upon 
his  tact,  and  was  therefore  very  careful  to  use 
the  most  idiomatic  English  in  his  conversation. 
But  at  this  sudden  discovery — for  he  had  not  im- 
agined that  the  acquaintance  had  gone  beyond 
his  own  discernment — he  felt  the  English  lan- 
guage quite  inadequate  to  the  occasion,  and  mut- 
tered something  under  his  breath  that  sounded  re- 
markably like  "Tison  d'enfer!"  as  he  turned  on 
his  heel  and  made  for  his  stateroom. 

And  the  Boy,  unconscious  and  indifferent  to  all 
this  by-play,  had  only  time  to  press  to  his  lips  the 
little  hand  she  had  surrendered  to  him  before  the 
crowd  was  upon  them. 

But  the  waves  were  singing  a  Te  Deum  in  his 
ears,  and  the  skies  were  bluer  in  the  moonlight 


117 


ONE  DAY 

than  ever  sea-skies  were  before.  Paul  felt,  with 
a  thrill  of  joy,  that  he  was  looking  far  off  into  the 
vaster  spaces  of  life,  with  their  broader,  grander 
possibilities.  He  felt  that  he  was  wiser,  nobler, 
stronger — nearer  his  ideal  of  what  a  brave  man 
should  be. 


118 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  two  are  young,  and  at  sea,  and  in 
love,  and  the  world  is  beautiful  and 
bright,  it  is  joyous  and  wonderful  to 
drift  thoughtlessly  with  the  tide,  and  rise  and 
fall  with  the  waves.  Thus  Paul  Zalenska  and 
Opal  Ledoux  spent  that  most  delightful  of  voy- 
ages on  the  Lusitania.  They  were  not  often 
alone.  They  did  not  need  to  be.  Their  inti- 
macy had  at  one  bound  reached  that  point  when 
every  word  and  movement  teemed  with  tender 
significance  and  suggestion.  Their  first  note 
had  reached  such  a  high  measure  that  all  the 
succeeding  days  followed  at  concert  pitch.  It 
was  a  voyage  of  discovery.  Each  day  brought 
forth  revelations  of  some  new  trait  of  character 
— each  unfolding  that  particular  something 
which  the  other  had  always  admired. 
And  so  their  intimacy  grew. 


119 


ONE  DAY 

Paul  Verdayne  saw  and  smiled.  He  was  glad 
to  see  the  Boy  enjoying  himself.  He  knew  his 
chances  for  that  sort  of  thing  were  all  too 
pathetically  few. 

Mr.  Ledoux  looked  on,  troubled  and  per- 
plexed, but  he  saw  no  chance,  and  indeed  no 
real  reason,  for  interfering. 

The  Count  de  Roannes  was  irritated,  at  times 
even  provoked,  but  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  him- 
self, hiding  his  annoyance,  and  his  secret  explos- 
ions of  "Au  diable!"  beneath  his  usual  urbanity. 

There  was  nothing  on  the  surface  to  indicate 
more  than  the  customary  familiarity  of  young 
people  thrown  together  for  a  time,  and  yet  no 
one  could  fail  to  realize  the  undercurrent  of  emo- 
tion below  the  gaiety  of  the  daily  ripple  of 
amusement  and  pleasurable  excitement  and 
converse. 

They  read  together,  they  exchanged  experi- 
ences of  travel,  they  discussed  literature,  music, 
art  and  the  stage,  with  the  enthusiastic  parti- 
sanship of  zealous  youth.  They  talked  of  life, 
with  its  shade  and  shadow,  its  heights  and 
depths  of  meaning,  and  altogether  became  very 


1 2O 


ONE  DAY 

well  acquainted.  Each  day  anew,  they  discov- 
ered an  unusual  congeniality  in  thoughts  and 
opinions.  They  shared  in  a  large  measure  the 
same  exalted  outlook  upon  life — the  same  lofty 
ambitions  and  dreams. 

And  the  more  Paul  learned  of  the  character  of 
this  strange  girl,  the  more  he  felt  that  she  was 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him.  To  be 
sure,  he  had  known  that,  subconsciously,  the 
first  time  he  had  heard  her  voice.  Now  he  knew 
it  by  force  of  reason  as  well,  and  he  cursed  the 
fate  that  denied  him  the  right  to  declare  himself 
her  lover  and  claim  her  before  the  world. 

One  thing  that  impressed  Paul  about  the  girl 
was  the  generous  charity  with  which  she  viewed 
the  frailties  of  human  nature,  her  sincere 
pity  for  all  forms  of  human  weakness  and  defeat, 
her  utter  freedom  from  petty  malice  or  spite. 
Rail  at  life  and  its  hypocrisies,  as  she  often  did. 
she  yet  felt  the  tragedy  in  its  pitiful  short-com- 
ings, and  looked  with  the  eye  of  real  compassion 
upon  its  sins  and  its  sinners,  condoning  as  far  as 
possible  the  fault  she  must  have  in  her  very 
heart  abhorred. 


121 


ONE  DAY 

"We  all  make  mistakes,"  she  would  say,  when 
someone  retailed  a  bit  of  scandal.  "No  human 
being  is  perfect,  nor  within  a  thousand  miles  of 
perfection.  What  right  then  have  we  to  con- 
demn any  fellow-creature  for  his  sins,  when  we 
break  just  as  important  laws  in  some  other  di- 
rection ?  It's  common  hypocrisy  to  say,  'We  never 
could  have  done  this  terrible  thing!'  and  draw 
our  mantle  of  self-righteousness  closely  about  us 
lest  it  become  contaminated.  Perhaps  we 
couldn't!  Why?  Because  our  temptations  do 
not  happen  to  lie  in  that  particular  direction, 
that's  all!  But  we  are  all  law-breakers;  not  one 
keeps  the  Ten  Commandments  to  the  letter — not 
one!  Attack  us  on  our  own  weak  point  and  see 
how  quickly  we  run  up  the  flag  of  surrender — 
and  perhaps  the  poor  sinner  we  denounce  for  his 
guilt  would  scorn  just  as  bitterly  to  give  in  to 
the  weakness  that  gets  the  best  of  us.  Sin  is  sin, 
and  one  defect  is  as  hideous  as  another.  He 
who  breaks  one  part  of  the  code  of  morality  and 
righteousness  is  as  guilty — just  exactly  as 
guilty — as  he  who  breaks  another.  Isn't  the 
first  commandment  as  binding  as  the  other  nine? 


122 


ONE  DAY 

AncJ  now  many  of  us  do  not  break  that  every 
day  we  live?" 

And  there  was  the  whole  creed  of  Opal 
Ledoux. 

But  as  intimate  as  she  and  the  Boy  had  be- 
come, they  yet  knew  comparatively  little  of  each 
other's  lives. 

Opal  guessed  that  the  Boy  was  of  rank,  and 
bound  to  some  definite  course  of  action  for 
political  reasons.  This  much  she  had  gained 
from  odds  and  ends  of  conversation.  But 
beyond  that,  she  had  no  idea  who  he  was, 
nor  whence  he  came.  She  would  not  have  been 
a  woman  had  she  not  been  curious — and  as  I 
have  said  before,  Opal  Ledoux  was,  every  inch 
of  her  five  feet,  a  woman — but  she  never  allowed 
herself  to  wax  inquisitive. 

As  for  the  Boy,  he  knew  there  was  some  evil 
hovering  with  threatening  wings  over  the  sun- 
shine of  the  girl's  young  life — some  shadow  she 
tried  to  forget,  but  could  not  put  aside — and  he 
grew  to  associate  this  shadow  with  the  con- 
tinued presence  of  the  French  Count,  and  his 
intimate  air  of  authority.  Paul  knew  not  why 


123 


he  should  thus  connect  these  two,  but  neverthe- 
less the  impression  grew  that  in  some  way  de 
Roannes  exercised  a  sinister  influence  over  the 
life  of  the  girl  he  loved. 

He  hated  the  Count.  He  resented  every 
look  that  those  dissolute  eyes  flashed  at  the  girl, 
and  he  noticed  many.  He  saw  Opal  wince 
sometimes,  and  then  turn  pale.  Yet  she  did  not 
resent  the  offense. 

But  Paul  did. 

"Such  a  look  from  a  man  like  that  is  the 
grossest  insult  to  any  woman,"  he  thought, 
writhing  in  secret  rage.  "How  can  she  permit 
it?  If  she  were  my — my  sister,  I'd  shoot  him  if 
he  once  dared  to  turn  his  damned  eyes  in  her 
direction !" 

And  thus  matters  stood  throughout  the  brief 
voyage.  Paul  and  Opal,  though  conscious  of 
the  double  barrier  between  them,  tried  to  forget 
its  existence  for  the  moment,  and,  at  intervals, 
succeeded  admirably. 

For  were  they  not  in  the  spring-time  of 
youth,  and  in  love? 

And  Paul  Zalenska  talked  to  this  girl  as  he 


124 


ONE  DAY 

had  never  talked  to  anyone  before — not  even 
Paul  Verdayne! 

She  brought  out  the  latent  best  in  him.  She 
developed  in  him  a  quickness  of  perception,  a 
depth  of  thought  and  emotion,  a  facility  of 
speech  which  he  had  never  known.  She  stimu- 
lated every  faculty,  and  gave  him  new  incentive 
— a  new  and  firmer  resolve  to  aspire  and  fight 
for  all  that  he  held  dear. 

"I  always  feel,"  he  said  to  Opal,  once,  "as 
though  my  soul  stood  always  at  attention, 
awaiting  the  inevitable  command  of  Fate!  All 
Nature  seems  to  tell  me  at  times  that  there  is 
a  purpose  in  my  living,  a  work  for  me  to  do,  and 
I  feel  so  thoroughly  alive — so  ready  to  listen  to 
the  call  of  duty — and  to  obey!" 

"A  dreamer!"  she  laughed,  "as  wild  a  dreamer 
as  I!" 

"Why  not?"  he  returned.  "All  great  deeds 
are  born  of  dreams!  It  was  a  dreamer  who 
found  this  America  you  are  so  loyal  to!  And 
who  knows  but  that  I  too  may  find  my  worl/'?" 

"And  a  fatalist,  too!" 


125 


ONE  DAY 

"Why,  of  course!  Everyone  is,  to  a  greater 
or  a  less  extent,  though  most  dare  not  admit  it!" 

"But  yesterday  you  said — what  did  you  say, 
Paul,  about  the  power  of  the  human  will  over 
environment  and  fate?" 

"I  don't  remember.  That  was  yesterday. 
I'm  not  the  same  to-day,  at  all.  And  to-morrow 
I  may  be  quite  different." 

"Behold  the  consistency  of  man.  But  Fate, 
Paul — what  makes  Fate?  I  have  always  been 
taught  to  believe  that  the  world  is  what  we 
make  it!" 

"And  it  is  true,  too,  that  in  a  way  we  may 
make  the  world  what  we  will,  each  creating  it 
anew  for  himself,  after  his  own  pattern — but 
after  all,  Opal,  that  is  Fate.  For  what  we  are, 
we  put  into  these  worlds  of  ours,  and  what  we 
are  is  what  our  ancestors  have  made  us — and 
that  is  what  I  understand  by  destiny." 

"Ah,  Paul,  you  have  so  many  noble  theories 
of  life." 

His  boyish  face  grew  troubled  and  perplexed. 

"I  thought  I  had,  Opal — till  I  knew  you! 
Now  I  do  not  know!  Fate  seems  to  have  taken 

;. 

£26 


ONE  DAY 

a  hand  in  the  game  and  my  theories  are  cast 
aside  like  worthless  cards.  I  begin  to  see  more 
clearly  that  we  cannot  always  choose  our 
paths." 

"Can  one  ever,  Paul?" 

"Perhaps  not!  Once  I  believed' implicitly  in 
the  omnipotence  of  the  human  will  to  make  life 
just  what  one  wished.  Now" — and  he  searched 
her  eyes — "I  know  better." 

"Unlucky  Opal,  to  cross  your  path!"  she 
sighed.  "Are  you  superstitious,  Paul?  Do  you 
know  that  opals  bring  bad  luck  to  those  who 
come  beneath  the  spell  of  their  influence?" 

"I'll  risk  the  bad  luck,  Opal!" 

And  she  smiled. 

And  he  thought  as  he  looked  at  her,  how  well 
she  understood  him!  What  an  inspiration 
would  her  love  have  brought  to  such  a  life  as  he 
meant  his  to  be !  What  a  Recamier  or  du  Barry 
she  would  have  made,  with  her  piquwite,  capti- 
vating face,  her  dark,  lustrous,  compelling  eyes, 
her  significant  gestures,  which  despite  many 
wayward  words  and  phrases,  expressed  only  lofty 
and  majestic  thoughts!  Her  whole  regal  little 


127 


body,  with  its  irresistible  power  and  charm,  was 
so  far  beyond  most  women!  She  was  life  and 
truth  and  ambition  incarnate!  She  was  the 
spirit  of  dreams  and  the  breath  of  idealism  and 
the  very  soul  of  love  and  longing. 

Would  she  feel  insulted,  he  wondered,  had  she 
known  he  had  dared  to  compare  her,  even  in  his 
own  thoughts,  with  a  king's  mistress?  He 
meant  no  insult — far  from  it!  But  would 
she  have  understood  it  had  she  known? 

Paul  fancied  that  she  would. 

"They  may  not  have  been  moral,  those 
women,"  he  thought,  "that  is,  what  the  world 
calls  'moral'  in  the  present  day,  but  they  pos- 
sessed power,  marvellous  power,  over  men  and 
kingdoms.  Opal  Ledoux  was  created  to  exert 
power — her  very  breath  is  full  of  force  and 
vitality!" 

"Yes,"  he  repeated  aloud  after  due  deliber- 
ation, "I'll  risk  the  bad  luck  if  you'll  be  good 
to  me!" 

"Am  I  not?" 

"Not  always." 

"Well,  I  will  be  to-day.    See!    I  have  a  new 

128 


ONE  DAY 

book — a  sad  little  love-tale,  they  say — just  the 
thing  for  two  to  read  at  sea,"  and  with  a  height- 
ened color  she  began  to  read. 

She  had  pulled  her  deck-chair  forward,  until 
she  sat  in  a  flood  of  sunshine,  and  the  bright 
rays,  falling  on  her  mass  of  rich  brown  hair, 
heightened  all  the  little  glints  of  red-gold  till  they 
looked  like  living  bits  of  flame.  Oh  the  vitality 
of  that  hair!  the  intense  glow  of  those  eyes  in 
whose  depths  the  flame-like  glitter  was  reflected 
as  the  voice,  too,  caught  fire  from  the  fervid 
lines! 

Soon  the  passion  and  charm  of  the  poem  cast 
its  spell  over  them  both'as  they  followed  the  fate 
of  the  unhappy  lovers  through  the  heart-ache  of 
their  evanescent  dream. 

Their  eyes  met  with  a  quick  thrill  of  under- 
standing. 

''It  is — Fate,  again,"  Paul  whispered.  "Read 
on,  Opal!" 

She  read  and  again  they  looked,  and  again  they 
understood. 

"1  cannot  read  any  more  of  it,"  she  faltered,  a 
real  fear  in  her  voice.  "Let  us  put  it  away." 


129 


ONE  DAY 

"'No,  no!"  he  pleaded.  "It's  true — too  true. 
Read  on,  please,  dear!" 

"1  cannot,  Paul.    It  is  too  sad!" 

"Then  let  me  read  it,  Opal,  and  you  can 
listen!" 

And  he  took  the  book  gently  from  her  hand, 
and  read  until  the  sun  was  smiling  its  farewell 
to  the  laughing  waters. 


That  evening-  a  strong  wind  was  playing 
havoc  with  the  waves,  and  the  fury  of  the  mad- 
dened spray  was  beating  a  fierce  accompaniment 
to  their  -hearts. 

"How  I  love  the  wind," 'said  Opal.  "More 
than  all  else  in  Nature  I  love  it,  I  think,  what- 
ever its  mood  may  be.  I  never  knew  why — 
probably  because  I,  too,  am  capricious  and  full 
of  changing  moods.  If  it  is  tender  and  caress- 
ing, I  respond  to  its  appeal;  if  it  is  boisterous 
and  wild,  I  grow  reckless  and  rash  in  sympathy ; 
and  when  it  is  fierce  and  passionate,  I  feel  my 
blood  rush  within  me.  I  am  certainly  a  child  of 
the  wind!" 


130 


ONE  DAY 

"Let  us  hope  you  will  never  experience  a 
cyclone,"  said  the  Count,  drily.  "It  might  be 
disastrous!" 

"True,  it  might,"  said  Opal,  and  she  did  not 
smile.  "I  echo  your  kind  hope,  Count  de 
Roannes." 

And  the  Boy  looked,  and  listened,  and  loved ! 


CHAPTER  X 

As  they  left  the  dinner-table,  Opal  passed 
the  Boy  on  her  way  to  her  stateroom, 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm, 
looked  up  into  his  face  appeaiingly.  He  won- 
dered how  any  man  could  resist  her. 

"Let's  put  the  book  away,  Paul,  and  never 
look  at  it  again!" 

"Will  you  be  good  to  me  if  I  do?"  he 
demanded. 

She  considered  a  moment.  "How?"  she 
asked,  finally. 

"Come  out  for  just  a  few  moments  under  the 
stars,  and  say  good-night." 

"The  idea!  I  can  say  good-night  here  and 
now!"  She  hesitated. 

"Please,  Opal!  I  seldom  see  you  alone — 
really  alone — and  this  is  our  last  night,  you 
know.  To-morrow  we  shall  part — perhaps  for- 


133 


ONE  DAY 

ever — who  knows?  Can  you  be  so  cruel  as  to 
refuse  this  one  request.  Please  come!" 

His  eyes  were  wooing,  her  heart  fluttering  in 
response. 

"Well — perhaps!"  she  said. 

"Perhaps?"  he  echoed,  with  a  smile,  then 
added,  teasingly,  "Are  you  afraid?" 

"Afraid? — I  dare  anything — to-night!" 

"Then  come!" 

"I  will — if  I  feel  like  this  when  the  time 
comes.  But,"  and  she  gave  him  a  tantalizing 
glance  from  under  her  long  lashes,  "don't 
expect  me!" 

Paul  tried  to  look  disappointed,  but  he  felt 
sure  that  she  would  come. 

And  she  did!  But  not  till  he  had  given  up 
all  hope,  and  was  pacing  the  deck  in  an  agony  of 
impatience.  He  had  felt  so  certain  that  he  knew 
his  beloved!  She  came,  swiftly,  silently,  almost 
before  he  was  aware. 

"Well,  .  .  .  I'm  here,"  she  said. 

"I  see  you  are,  Opal  and — thank  you." 

He  extended  his  hand,  but  she  clasped  hers 


134 


ONE  DAY 

behind  her  back  and  looked  at  him  defiantly. 
Truly  she  was  in  a  most  perverse  mood! 

"Aren't  we  haughty!"  he  laughed. 

"No,  I'm  not;  I  am — angry!" 

"With  me?" 

"No!— not  you." 

"Whom,  then?" 

"With — myself!"  And  she  stamped  her  tiny 
foot  imperiously. 

Paul  was  delighted.  "Poor  child,"  he  said. 
"What  have  you  done  that  you  are  so  sorry?" 

"I'm  not  sorry!  That's  why  I'm  angry!  If  I 
were  only  a  bit  sorry,  I'd  have  some  self- 
respect!" 

Paul  looked  at  her  deliberately,  taking  in 
everj-  little  detail  of  her  appearance,  his  eyes  full 
of  admiration.  Then  he  added,  with  an  air  of 
finality,  "But  /  respect  you !" 

She  softened,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
Paul  instantly  took  possession  of  it. 

"Do  you  really?"  she  asked,  searching  his  face, 
almost  wistfully.  "A  girl  who  will  do  ... 
what  I  am  doing  to-night !" 

"But  what  are  you  doing,  Opal  ?"  he  asked  in 


135 


ONE  DAY 

the  most  innocent  surprise.  "Merely  keeping  a 
wakeful  man  company  beneath  the  stars!" 

"Is  that  .  .  .  all?" 

"All  .  .  .  now!" 

They  stood  silently  for  a  minute,  hand  still  in 
hand,  looking  far  out  over  the  moonlit  waters, 
each  conscious  of  the  trend  of  the  other's 
thoughts — the  beating  of  the  other's  heart.  The 
deck  was  deserted  by  all  save  their  two  selves — 
they  two  alone  in  the  big  starlit  universe.  At 
last  she  spoke. 

"This  is  interesting,  isn't  it?" 

"Of  course! — holding  your  hand!" 

She  snatched  it  from  'him.  "I  forgot  you  had 
it,"  she  said. 

"Forget  again!" 

"No,  I  won't!  ...  Is  it  always  interesting? 
.  .  .  holding  a  girl's  hand?" 

"It  depends  upon  the  girl,  I  suppose!  I  was 
enjoying  it  immensely  just  then." 

He  took  her  hand  again. 

And  again  that  perilously  sweet  silence  fell 
between  them. 

At  last,  "Promise  me,  Paul!"  she  said. 

136 


ONE  DAY 

"I  will— what  is  it?" 

"Promise  me  to  forget  anything  I  may  say  or 
do  to-night.  .  .  .  not  to  think  hard  of  me,  how- 
ever rashly  I  may  act!  I'm  not  accountable, 
really!  I'm  liable  to  say  .  .  .  anything!  I  feel 
it  in  my  blood!" 

"I  understand,  Opal!  See!  the  winds  are  bois- 
terous and  unruly  enough.  You  may  be  as  rash 
and  reckless  as  you  will!" 

Suddenly  the  wind  blew  her  against  his 
breast.  The  perfume  of  her  hair,  and  all  the 
delicious  nearness  of  her,  intoxicated  him.  He 
laughed  a  soft,  caressing  little  lover-laugh,  and 
raising  her  face  to  his,  kissed  her  lips  easily,  nat- 
urally, as  though  he  had  the  right.  She  strug- 
gled, helplessly,  as  he  held  her  closely  to  him,  and 
would  not  let  her  go. 

"You  are  a "  She  bit  her  lip,  and  choked 

back  the  offensive  word. 

"A— what?    Say  it,  Opal!" 

"A— a— brute!    There !  let  me  go !" 

But  he  only  held  her  closer  and  laughed  again 
softly,  till  she  whispered,  "I  didn't — quite — 
mean  that,  you  know !" 


137 


ONE  DAY 

"Of  course  you  didn't!" 

She  drew  away  from  him  and  pointed  her  fin- 
ger at  him  accusingly,  her  eyes  full  of  reproof. 

"But — you  said  you  wouldn't!  You  prom- 
ised!" 

"Wouldn't  what?" 

"Wouldn't  do — what  you  did — again!" 

"Did  I?"  insinuatingly. 

"How  dare  you  ask  that?    You " 

"  'Brute'  again?  Quite  like  old  married 
folk!" 

"Old  married  folk?    They  never  kiss!" 

"Don't  they?" 

"Not  each  other!  .  .  .  other  people's  hus- 
bands or  wives!" 

"Is  that  it?" 

"Surely 

'Think  you,  if  Laura  had  been  Petrarch's  wife, 
He  would  have  written  sonnets  all  his  life?* 

O  no!  not  he!" 

"I'm  learning  many  new  things,  Opal!  Let's 
olay  we're  married,  then — to  someone  else!" 

'38 


ONE  DAY 

"But — haven't  you  any  conscience  at  all?" 

"Conscience? — what  a  question!  Of  course 
I  havel" 

"You  certainly  aren't  using  it  to-night!" 

"I'm  too  busy!    Kiss  me!" 

"The  very  idea!" 

"Please!" 

"Certainly  not!" 

"Then  let  me  kiss  you!" 

"No!!!" 

"Why  not? — Don't  you  like  to  be  loved?" 

And  his  arms  closed  around  her,  and  his  lips 
found  hers  again,  and  held  them. 

At  last,  "Silly  Boy!" 

"Why?" 

"Oh!  to  make  such  a  terrible  fuss  about  some- 
thing he  doesn't  really  want,  and  will  be  sorry  he 
has  after  he  gets  it!" 

And  Paul  asked  her  wickedly,  what  foolish 
boy  she  was  talking  about  now  ?  He  knew  what 
he  really  wanted — always — and  was  not  sorry 
when  he  had  it.  Not  he!  He  was  sorry  only  for 
the  good  things  he  had  let  slip,  never  for  those 
he  had  taken! 


139 


ONE  DAY 

"But — do  let  me  go,  Paul!  I  don't  belong 
to  you!" 

"Yes  you  do — for  a  little  while!"  He  held 
her  close. 

Belong  to  him!  How  she  thrilled  at  the 
thought!  Was  this  what  it  meant  to  be — loved? 
And  did  she  belong  to  him — if  only,  as  he  said, 
for  a  little  while?  She  certainly  didn't  belong 
to  herself!  Whatever  this  madness  that  had 
suddenly  taken  possession  of  her,  it  was  stronger 
than  herself.  She  couldn't  control  it — she 
didn't  even  want  to!  At  all  events,  she  was 
living  to-night!  Her  blood  was  rushing  madly 
through  her  body.  She  was  deliciously, 
thoroughly  alive! 

"Paul! — are  you  listening?" 

"Yes,  dear!"  the  answer  strangely  muffled. 

And  then  she  purred  in  his  ear,  all  the  time 
caressing  his  cheek  with  her  small  white  fingers: 
"You  see,  Paul,  I  knew  I  had  made  some  sort 
of  impression  upon  you.  I  must  have  done 
so  or  you  wouldn't  have — done  that!  But  any 
girl  can  make  an  impression  on  shipboard,  and 
an  affair  at  sea  is  always  so — evanescent,  that  no 


140 


ONE  DAY 

expects  it  to  last  more  than  a  week.  I  don't 
want  to  make  such  a  transitory  impression  upon 
you,  Paul.  I  wanted  you  to  remember  me 
longer.  I  wanted — oh,  I  wanted  to  give  you 
something  to  remember  that  was  just  a  little  bit 
different  than  other  girls  had  given  you — some 
distinct  impression  that  must  linger  with  you — 
always — always!  I'm  not  like  other  women! 
Do  you  see,  Paul?  It  was  all  sheer  vanity.  I 
wanted  you  to  remember!" 

"And  did  you  think  I  could  forget?" 

"Of  course!  All  men  forget  a  kiss  as  soon  as 
their  lips  cease  tingling!" 

Paul  laughed.  "Wise  girl!  Who  taught  you 
so  much?  Come,  confess!" 

"Oh,  I've  known  you  a  whole  week,  Paul, 
and  you " 

But  their  lips  met  again  and  the  sentence  was 
never  finished. 

At  last  she  put  her  hands  on  each  side  of  his 
face  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Paul?" 

"Of  course  not!" 

"Of  course  you  are!" 


141 


ONE  DAY 

"You  misunderstood  me! — I  said  'Nof!  But 
why?  Are  you  ashamed  of  me?" 

"I  ought  to  be,  oughtn't  I?  But — I  don't  be- 
lieve you  can  help  it!" 

His  lips  crushed  hers  again,  fiercely.  "I  can't, 
Opal— I  can't!" 

She  turned  away  her  head,  but  he  buried  his 
face  in  her  neck,  kissing  the  soft  flesh  again  and 
again. 

"Such  a  slip  of  a  girl !"  Paul  murmured  in  her 
ear,  when  he  again  found  his  voice.  "Such  a 
tiny,  little  girl!  I  am  almost  afraid  you  will 
vanish  if  I  don't  hold  you  tight !" 

Opal  was  thoroughly  aroused  now — no  longer 
merely  passive — quite  satisfactorily  responsive. 

"I  won't,  Paul!  I  won't!  But  hold  me  closer, 
closer!  Crush  this  -terrible  ache  out  of  my  heart 
if  you  can,  Paul !" 

"There  were  tears  in  her  voice.  He  clasped 
her  to  him  and  felt  her  heart  throbbing  out  its 
pain  against  its  own,  as  he  whispered,  "Opal,  am 
I  a  brute?" 

"N-o-o-o-o!"  A  pause.  At  last,  "Let  me  go 
now,  Paul!  This  is  sheer  insanity!" 


142 


ONE  DAY 

But  he  made  no  move  to  release  her  until  she 
looked  up  into  his  eyes  in  an  agony  erf  appeal, 
and  pleaded,  "Please,  Paul!" 

"Are  you  sure  you  want  to  go?" 

"No,  I'm  not  sure  of  that,  but  I'm  quite  sure 
that  I  ought  to  go !  I  must !  I  must !" 

And  Paul  released  her.  Where  was  this  mad- 
ness carrying  them?  Was  he  acting  the  part  of 
the  man  he  meant  to  be,  or  of  a  cad — an  unprin- 
cipled bounder?  He  did  not  know.  He  only 
knew  he  wanted  to  kiss  her — kiss'  her  .  .  . 

She  turned  on  him  in  a  sudden  flash  of  indig- 
nation. "Why  have  you  such  power  over  me?" 
she  -demanded. 

"What  power  over  you,  Opal!" 

"What's  the  use  of  dodging  the  truth,  you 
professor  of  honesty?  You  make  me  do  things 
we  both  know  I'll  be  sorry  for  all  the  rest  of  my 
life.  Why  do  you  do  it?" 

Her  eyes  blazed  with  a  real  anger  that  made 
her  piqitante  face  more  alluring  than  ever  to  the 
eyes  of  the  infatuated  Boy  who  watched  her. 
He  was  righting  desperately  for  self-control,  but 


ONE  DAY 

if  she  should  look  at  him  as  she  had  looked 
sometimes ! 

"I  can't  understand  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
always  knew  I  was  capable  of  being  foolish — 
wicked,  perhaps — for  a  grande  passion.  I  could 
forgive  myself  that,  I  think!  But  for  a  mere 
caprice — a  penchant  like  this!  Oh,  Paul!  what 
can  you  think  of  me?" 

His  voice  was  hoarse — heavy  with  emotion. 

"Think  of  you,  Opal?  I  am  sure  you  must 
know  what  I  think.  I've  never  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  you — in  so  many  words — but  you 
must  have  seen  what  I  have  certainly  taken  no 
pains  to  conceal.  Shall  I  try  to  tell  you,  Opal?" 

"No,  no!  I  don't  want  to  hear  a  word — not, 
a  word!  Do  you  understand?  I  forbid  you!" 

Paul  bowed  deferentially.  She  laughed  ner- 
vously at  the  humility  in  his  obeisance. 

"Don't  be  ridiculous!"  she  commanded. 
"This  is  growing  too  melodramatic,  and  I  hate 
a  scene.  But,  really,  Paul,  you  mustn't — simply 
mustn't!  There  are  reasons — conditions — and 
— you  must  not  tell  me,  and  I  must  not,  will  not 
listen!" 


144 


ONE  DAY 

"I  mustn't  make  love  to  you,  you  mean?" 

"Imean  .  .  .  just  that!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Never  mind  the  'why.'  There  are  plenty  of 
good  and  sufficient  reasons  that  I  might  give  if 
I  chose,  but — I  don't  choose!  The  only  reason 
that  you  need  to  know  is — that  I  forbid  you!" 

She  turned  away  with  that  regal  air  of  hers 
that  made  one  forget  her  child-like  stature. 

"Are  you  going,  Opal?" 

"Yes! — what  did  I  come  out  here  for?  I  can't 
remember.  Do  you  know?" 

"To  wish  me  good-night,  of  course!  And 
you  haven't  done  it!" 

She  looked  back  over  her  shoulder,  a  mocking 
laugh  in  those  inscrutable  eyes.  Then  she 
turned  and  held  out  both  hands  to  him. 

"Good-night,  Paul,  good-night!  .  .  .  You 
seem  able  to  do  as  you  please  with  me,  in  spite  of 
—everything — and  I  just  want  to  stay  in  your 
arms  forever — forever  ..." 

Paul  caught  her  to  him,  and  their  lips  melted 
in  a  clinging  kiss. 

At  last  she  drew  away  from  his  embrace. 


'45 


ONE  DAY 

"The  glitter  of  the  moonlight  and  the  music 
of  the  wind-maddened  waves  must  have  gone  to 
my  brain!"  She  laughed  merrily,  pulled  his  face 
down  to  hers  for  a  last  swift  kiss,  and  ran  from 
him  before  he  could  detain  her. 


The  next  morning  they  met  for  a  brief  mo- 
ment alone. 

Opal  shook  hands  with  the  Boy  in  her  most 
perfunctory  manner. 

Paul,  after  a  moment's  silent  contemplation 
of  her  troubled  face,  bent  over  her,  saying, 
"Have  I  offended  you,  Opal?  Are  you  angry 
with  me?" 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  asked  with  the 
utmost  innocence  "For  what?" 

Paul  was  disconcerted.  "Last  night !"  he  said 
faintly. 

She  colored,  painfully. 

"No,  Paul,  listen!  I  don't  blame  you  a  bit! — 
not  a  bit!  A  man  would  be  a  downright  fool 
not  to  take — what  he  wanted But  if  you 


146 


ONE  DAY 

want  to  be — iriends  with  me,  you'll  just  forget 
all  about — last  night — or  at  any  rate,  ignore  it, 
and  never  refer  to  it  again." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  she  placed  hers  in 
it  for  the  briefest  possible  instant. 

And  then  their  tete-a-tete  was  interrupted, 
and  they  sat  down  for  their  last  breakfast  at  sea. 

Opal  Ledoux  was  not  visible  again  until  the 
Lusitania  docked  in  New  York,  when  she  waved 
her  companion  de  voyage  a  smiling  but  none  the 
less  reluctant  an  revoir! 

But  Paul  was  too  far  away  to  see  the  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  only  remembered  the  smile. 


CHAPTER  XI 

NEW  YORK'S  majestic  greatness  and  cease- 
less, tireless  activity  speedily  engrossed 
the  Boy  and  opened  his  eager  eyes  to  a 
wider  horizon  than  he  had  yet  known.     There 
was  a  new  influence  in  the  whir  and  hum  of  this 
metropolis  of  the  Western  world  that  set  the 
wheels  of  thought  to  a  more  rapid  motion,  and 
keyed  his  soul  to  its  highest  tension. 

It  was  not  until  his  first  letter  from  the  home- 
land had  come  across  the  waters  that  he  paused 
to  wonder  what  the  new  factor  in  his  life  meant 
for  his  future.  He  had  not  allowed  his  reason  to 
assert  itself  until  the  force  of  circumstances  de- 
manded that  he  look  his  soul  in  the  face,  and 
learn  whither  he  was  drifting.  Paul  was  no 
coward,  but  he  quailed  before  the  ominous 
clouds  that  threatened  the  happiness  of  himself 
and  the  girl  he  loved. 


149 


ONE  DAY 

For  now  he  knew  that  he  loved  Opal  Ledoux. 
It  was  Fate.  He  had  guessed  it  at  the  first 
sound  of  her  voice;  he  had  felt  it  at  the  first 
glance  of  her  eye;  and  he  had  known  it  beyond 
the  peradventure  of  a  doubt  at  the  first  touch 
of  her  lips. 

Yet  this  letter  from  his  kingdom  was  full  of 
suggestions  of  duties  to  be  done,  of  responsibili- 
ties to  be  assumed,  of  good  still  to  be  brought 
out  of  much  that  was  petty  and  low,  and  of  help- 
less, miserable  human  beings  who  were  so  soon 
to  be  dependent  upon  him. 

"I  will  make  my  people  happy,"  he  thought. 
"Happiness  is  the  birthright  of  every  man — be 
he  peasant  or  monarch."  And  then  the  thought 
came  to  him,  how  could  he  ever  succeed  in  mak- 
ing them  truly  happy,  when  he  himself  had  so 
sorely  missed  the  way!  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  do,  he  knew  that — both  for  Opal's  sake 
and  for  his  own — and  that  was  to  go  far  away, 
and  never  see  the  face  again  that  had  bewitched 
him  so. 

Perhaps,  if  he  did  this,  he  might  forget  the 
experience  that  was,  after  all,  only  an  episode  in 


150 


ONE  DAY 

a  man's  life  and — other  men  forget!  He  might 
learn  to  be  calmly  happy  and  contented  with  his 
Princess.  It  was  only  natural  for  a  young  man 
to  make  love  to  a  pretty  girl,  he  thought,  and 
why  should  he  be  any  exception?  He  had  taken 
the  good  the  gods  provided,  as  any  live  man 
would — now  he  could  go  his  way,  as  other  men 
did,  and — forget !  Why  not  ?  And  yet  the  mere 
thought  of  it  cast  such  a  gloom  over  his  spirits 
that  he  knew  in  his  heart  his  philosophic  at- 
tempt to  deceive  himself  was  futile  and  vain.  He 
might  run  away,  of  course — though  it  was 
hardly  like  him  to  do  that — but  he  would 
scarcely  be  able  to  forget. 

And  then  Verdayne  joined  him  with  an  open 
note  in  his  hand — a  formal  invitation  from  Gil- 
bert Ledoux  for  them  to  dine  with  him  in  his 
Fifth  Avenue  house  on  the  following  evening. 
He  wished  his  family  to  meet  the  friends  who 
had  so  pleasantly  attracted  himself  and  his 
daughter  on  shipboard. 

Was  it  strange  how  speedily  the  Boy's  resolu- 
tions vanished?  Run  away!  Not  he! 


ONE  DAY 

"Accept  the  invitation,  Father  Paul,  by   all 
means!" 


It  was  a  cordial  party  in  which  Paul  Verdayne 
and  his  young  companion  found  themselves  on 
the  following  evening — a  simple  family  gather- 
ing, graciously  presided  over  by  Opal's  step- 
mother. 

Gilbert  Ledoux's  wife  was  one  of  those  fash- 
ion-plate women  who  strike  one  as  too  artificial 
to  be  considered  as  more  than  half  human.  You 
wonder  if  they  have  also  a  false  set  of  emotions 
to  replace  those  they  wore  out  in  their  youth — 
c'est  a  dire  if  they  ever  had  any !  Paul  smiled  at 
the  thought  that  Mr.  Ledoux  need  have  no  anx- 
iety over  the  virtue  of  his  second  wife — what- 
ever merry  dance  the  first  might  have  led  him ! 

Opal  was  not  present  when  the  gentlemen 
were  announced,  and  the  bevy  of  aunts  and 
uncles  and  cousins  were  expressing  much  impa- 
tience for  her  presence — which  Paul  Zalenska 
echoed  fervently  in  his  heart.  It  was  truly 
pleasant — this  warm  blood-interest  of  kinship. 


152 


ONE  DAY 

He  liked  the  American  clannishness,  and  he 
sighed  to  think  of  the  utter  lack  of  family  affec- 
tion in  his  own  life. 

The  drawing-room,  where  they  were  received, 
was  furnished  in  good  taste,  the  Boy  thought. 
The  French  touch  was  very  prominent — the 
blend  of  color  seemed  to  speak  to  him  of  Opal. 
Yes,  he  liked  the  room.  The  effect  grew  on  one 
with  the  charm  of  the  real  home  atmosphere 
that  a  dwelling  place  should  have.  But  he 
wasn't  so  much  interested  in  that,  after  all!  In 
fact,  it  was  rather  unsatisfactory — without 
Opal !  These  people  were  her  people  and,  of 
course,  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  him 
on  her  account,  but  still — 

And  at  last,  when  the  Boy  was  beginning  to 
acknowledge  himself  slightly  bored,  and  to  re- 
sent the  familiar  footing  on  which  he  could  see 
the  Count  de  Roannes  already  stood  in  the  fam- 
ily circle,  Opal  entered,  and  the  gloomy,  weari- 
some atmosphere  seemed  suddenly  flooded  with 
sunlight. 

She  came  in  from  the  street,  unconventionally 
removing  her  hat  and  gloves  as  she  entered. 


153 


ONE  DAY 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long,  Opal?"  asked 
Mrs.  Ledoux,  with  considerable  anxiety. 

"At  the  Colony  Club,  ma  mere — I  read  a 
paper!" 

"Mon  Dieu!"  put  in  the  Count,  in  an  amused 
tone.  ''On  what  subject?" 

"On  The  Modern  Ethical  Viewpoint,' 
Comte,"  she  answered,  nodding  her  little  head 
sagely.  "It  was  very  convincing!  In  fact,  I 
exploded  a  bomb  in  the  camp  that  will  give 
them  all  something  sensational  to  talk  about  till 
— till — the  next  scandal!" 

The  Count  gave  a  low  chuckle  of  apprecia- 
tion, while  Mr.  Ledoux  asked,  seriously,  "But 
to  what  purpose,  daughter?" 

"Why,  papa,  don't  you  know?  I  had  to  teach 
Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Moore,  Mrs.  Sanford  Wyckoff, 
and  several  other  old  ladies  how  to  be  good!" 

And  in  the  general  laugh  that  followed,  she 
added,  under  her  breath,  "Oh,  the  irony  of  life!" 

Paul  watched  her  in  a  fever  of  boyish  jealousy 
as  she  passed  through  the  family  circle,  bestow- 
ing her  kisses  left  and  right  with  impartial  favor. 
She  made  the  rounds  slowly,  conscientiously, 


154 


ONE  DAY 

and  then,  with  an  air  of  supreme  indifference, 
moved  to  the  Boy's  side. 

He  leaned  over  her. 

"Where  are  my  kisses?"  he  asked  softly. 

She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  back,  child- 
fashion,  and  looked  up  at  him,  a  coquettish  dar- 
ing in  her  eyes. 

"Where  did  you  put  them  last?"  she 
demanded. 

"You  ought  to  know!" 

"True — I  ought.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
haven't  the  slightest  idea.  It  depends  alto- 
gether upon  what  girl  you  saw  last." 

"If  you  think  that  of  me " 

"What  else  can  I  think?  Our  first  meeting 
did  not  leave  much  room  for  conjecture.  And, 
of  course " 

"Opal!  You  have  just  time  to  dress  for  din- 
ner! And  the  Count  is  very  anxious  to  see  the 
new  orchid,  you  know!" 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  reproof  in  Mrs. 
Ledoux's  voice.  The  girl's  face  clouded  as  she 
turned  away  in  response  to  the  summons.  But 
she  threw  the  Boy  a  challenge  over  her  shoulder 


155 


ONE  DAY 

— a  hint  of  that  mischief  that  always  seemed  to 
lurk  in  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

Paul  bit  his  lip.  He  was  not  a  boy  to  be 
played  with,  as  Opal  Ledoux  would  find  out. 
And  he  sulked  in  a  corner,  refusing  to  be  con- 
ciliated, until  at  last  she  re-entered  the  room, 
leaning  on  the  Count's  "venerable"  arm.  She 
had  doubtless  been  showing  him  the  orchid. 
Humph !  What  did  that  old  reprobate  know — or 
care — about  orchids  ? 

"A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim, 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  nothing  more." 

As  the  evening  passed,  there  came  to  the  Boy 
no  further  opportunity  to  speak  to  Opal  alone. 
She  not  only  avoided  him  herself,  but  the  entire 
party  seemed  to  have  entered  into  a  conspiracy 
to  keep  him  from  her.  It  roused  all  the  fight  in 
his  Slavic  blood,  and  he  determined  not  to  be 
outwitted  by  any  such  high-handed  proceeding. 
He  crossed  the  room  and  boldly  broke  into  the 
conversation  of  the  group  in  which  she  stood. 


156 


ONE  DAY 

"Miss  Ledoux/'  he  said,  "pardon  me,  but  as 
we  are  about  to  leave,  I  must  remind  you  of 
your  promise  to  show  me  the  new  orchid.  I  am 
very  fond  of  orchids.  May  I  not  see  it  now?" 

Opal  had  made  no  such  promise,  but  as  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  an  instinctive  denial,  she 
met  his  eyes  with  an  expression  in  their  depths 
she  dared  not  battle.  There  was  no  knowing 
what  this  impetuous  Boy  might  say  or  do,  if 
goaded  too  far. 

"Please  pardon  my  forgetfulness,"  she  said, 
with  a  propitiating  smile,  as  she  took  his  arm. 
"We  will  go  and  see  it." 

And  the  Boy  smiled.  He  had  not  found  his 
opportunity — he  had  made  one! 

With  a  malicious  smile  on  his  thin,  wicked 
lips  the  Count  de  Roannes  watched  them  as 
they  moved  across  the  room  toward  the  con- 
servatory— this  pair  so  finely  matched  that  all 
must  needs  admire. 

It  was  rather  amusing  in  les  enfants,  he  told 
Ledoux,  this  "Paul  et  Virginie"  episode.  Some- 
what bourgeois,  of  course — but  harmless,  he 
hoped.  This  with  an  expressive  sneer.  But — 


157 


ONE  DAY 

mon  Dieu! — and  there  was  a  sinister  gleam  in 
his  evil  eyes — it  mustn't  go  too  far!  The  girl 

was  a  captivating  little  witch — the  old  father 
winced  at  the  significance  in  the  tone — and  she 
must  have  her  fling!  He  rather  admired  her  the 
more  for  her  diablerie — but  she  must  be  careful ! 

But  he  need  not  have  feared  to-night.  Paul 
Zalenska's  triumph  was  short-lived.  When  once 
inside  the  conservatory,  the  girl  turned  and 
faced  him,  indignantly. 

"What  an  utterly  shameless  thing  to  do!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Why?"  he  demanded.  "You  were  not  treat- 
ing me  with  due  respect  and  'self-preservation  is 
the  first  law  of  nature,'  you  know.  I  am  so  little 
accustomed  to  being — snubbed,  that  I  don't 
take  it  a  bit  kindly!" 

"I  did  not  snub  you,"  she  said,  "at  least,  not 
intentionally.  But  of  course  my  friends  have 
prior  claims  on  my  time  and  attention.  I  can't 
put  them  aside  for  a  mere  stranger." 

"A  stranger?"  he  echoed.  "Then  you 
mean " 

"I  mean  what?" 


ONE  DAY 

"To  ignore  our  former — acquaintance — alto- 
gether?" 

"I  do  mean  just  that !  One  has  many  desper- 
ate flirtations  on  board  ship,  but  one  isn't  in  any 
way  bound  to  remember  them.  It  is  not  always 
— convenient.  You  may  have  foolishly  remem- 
bered. I  have — forgotten!" 

"You  have  not  forgotten.  I  say  you  have 
not,  Opal." 

"We  use  surnames  in  society,  .  Monsieur 
Zalenska?" 

"Opal!"  appealingly. 

"Why  such  emotion,  Monsieur?"  mockingly. 

The  Boy  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment,  but 
he  met  her  eyes  bravely. 

"Why  ?  Because  I  love  you,  Opal,  and  in  your 
heart  you  know  it!" 

"Why?" 

"Why  do  I  love  you?  Because  I  can't  help 
it!  Who  knows,  really,  why  anything  happens 
or  does  not  happen  in  this  topsy-turvy  world?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment, 
and  then  spoke  indifferently,  almost  lightly. 

"Have  you  looked  at  the  orchid  you  wished 


159 


ONE  DAY 

so  much  to  see,  Monsieur  Zalenska?    Mamma 
is  very  proud  of  it!" 

"Opal!" 

But  she  went  on,  heedless  of  his  interruption, 
"Because,  if  you  haven't,  you  must  look  at  it 
hastily — you  have  wasted  some  time  quite  fool- 
ishly already — and  I  have  promised  to  join  the 
Count  in  a  few  moments,  and " 

"Very  well.  I  understand,  Opal!"  Paul  stif- 
fened. "I  will  relieve  you  of  my  presence.  But 
don't  think  you  will  always  escape  so  easily  be- 
cause I  yield  now.  You  have  not  meant  all  you 
have  said  to  me  to-night,  and  I  know  it  as  well 
as  you  do.  You  have  tried  to  play  with 
me "  ' 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 

"You  knew  the  tiger  was  in  my  blood — you 
couldn't  help  but  know  it! — and  yet  you  delib- 
erately awakened  him!"  She  gave  him  a  startled 
glance,  her  eyes  appealing  for  mercy,  but  he 
went  on  relentlessly.  "Yes,  after  the  manner  of 
women  since  the  world  began,  you  lured  him  on 
and  on !  Is  it  my  fault — or  yours — if  he  devour 
us  both?" 


1 60 


ONE  DAY 

Paul  Verdayne,  strangely  restless  and  ill  at 
ease,  was  passing  beneath  the  window  and  thus 
became  an  involuntary  listener  to  these  mad 
words  from  the  lips  of  his  young  friend. 

Straightway  there  rose  to  his  mental  vision  a 
picture — never  very  far  removed — a  picture  of  a 
luxurious  room  in  a  distant  Swiss  hotel,  the 
foremost  figure  in  which  was  the  slender  form  of 
a  royally  fascinating  woman,  reclining  with 
reckless  abandon  upon  a  magnificent  tiger  skin, 
stretched  before  the  fire.  He  saw  her  lavishing 
her  caresses  upon  the  inanimate  head.  He  heard 
her  purr  once  more  in  the  vibrant,  appealing 
tones  so  like  the  Boy's. 

The  stately  Englishman  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  maddening  vision,  with 
its  ever-fresh  pangs  of  poignant  anguish,  its  per- 
sistent, unconquered  and  unconquerable  despair! 

"God  help  the  Boy!"  he  prayed,  as  he  strolled 
on  into  the  solitude  of  the  moonlit  night.  "No 
one  else  can!  It  is  the  call  of  the  blood — the 
relentless  lure  of  his  heritage!  From  it  there  is 
no  escape,  as  against  it  there  is  no  appeal.  It 
is  the  mad  blood  of  youth,  quickened  and  inten- 


161 


ONE  DAY 

sified  in  the  flame  of  inherited  desire.  I  cannot 
save  him!" 

And  then,  with  a  sudden  flood  of  tender,  pas- 
sionate, sacred  memories,  he  added  in  his  heart, 

"And  I  would  not,  if  I  could  1" 


162 


CHAPTER  XII 

PAUL   VERDAYNE   had   many    acquaintances 
and    friends   in    New   York,    and   much 
against  their  inclination  he  and  the  Boy 
soon  found  themselves  absorbed  in  the  whirl  of 
frivolities.     They  were  not  very  favorably  im- 
pressed.    It  was  all  too  extravagant  for  their 
Old   World   tastes — not    too   magnificent,    for 
they  both  loved    splendor — but  it    shouted  its 
cost  too  loudly  in  their  ears,  and  grated  on  their 
nerves  and  shocked  their  aesthetic  sense. 

The  Boy  was  a  favorite  everywhere,  even  more 
so,  perhaps,  than  in  London.  American  society 
saw  no  mystery  about  him,  and  would  not  have 
cared  if  it  had.  If  his  face  seemed  somewhat 
familiar,  as  it  often  had  to  Opal  Ledoux.  no  one 
puzzled  his  brains  over  it  or  searched  the  mag- 
azines to  place  it.  New  York  accepted  him,  as 
it  accepts  all  distinguished  foreigners  who  have 

163 


ONE  DAY 

no  craving  for  the  limelight  of  publicity,  for  his 
face  value,  and  enjoyed  "him  thoroughly. 
Women  petted  him,  because  he  was  so  witty  and 
chivalrous  and  entertaining,  and  always  as  ex- 
quisitely well-groomed  as  any  belle  among 
them;  men  were  attracted  to  him  because  he  had 
ideas  and  knew  how  to  express  them.  He  was 
worth  talking  to  and  worth  listening  to.  He 
had  formed  opinions  of  his  own  upon  most  sub- 
jects. He  had  thought  for  himself  and  had  the 
courage  of  his  convictions,  and  Americans  like 
that. 

Naturally  enough,  before  many  days,  at  a 
fashionable  ball  at  the  Plaza  he  came  into  con- 
tact with  Opal  Ledoux  again. 

It  was  a  new  experience,  this,  to  see  the  girl 
he  loved  surrounded  by  the  admiration  and  at- 
tention of  other  men.  In  his  own  infatuation  he 
had  not  realized  that  most  men  would  be 
affected  by  her  as  he  was,  would  experience  the 
same  maddening  impulses — the  same  longing — 
the  same  thirst  for  possession  of  her.  Now  the 
fact  came  home  to  him  with  the  force  of  an  elec- 
tric shock.  He  could  not  endure  the  burning 


164 


ONE  DAY 

glances  of  admiration  that  he  saw  constantly 
directed  toward  her.  What  right  had  other  men 
to  devour  her  with  their  eyes  ? 

He  hastened  to  meet  her.  She  greeted  him  po- 
litely but  coldly,  expressing  some  perfunctory  re- 
gret when  he  asked  for  a  dance,  and  showing  him 
that  her  card  was  already  filled.  And  then  her 
partner  claimed  her,  and  she  went  away  on  his 
arm,  smiling  up  into  his  face  in  a  way  she  had 
that  drove  men  wild  for  her.  "The  wicked  little 
witch!"  Paul  thought.  "Would  she  make  eyes 
at  every  man  like  that?  Dare  she?" 

A  moment  after,  he  heard  her  name,  and  in- 
stantly was  all  attention.  The  two  men  just 
behind  him  were  discussing  her  rather  freely — 
far  too  freely  for  the  time  and  the  place — and 
the  girl,  in  Paul's  estimation.  He  listened 
eagerly. 

"Bold  little  devil,  that  Ledoux  girl!"  said  one. 
"God!  how  she  is  playing  her  little  game  to- 
night! They  say  she  is  going  to  marry  that  old 
French  Count,  de  Roannes!  That's  the  fellow 
over  there,  watching  her  with  the  cat's  eyes.  I 
guess  he  thinks  she  means  to  have  her  fling  first 

165 


ONE  DAY 

— and  I  guess  she  thinks  so  too!  As  usual,  it's 
the  spectator  who  sees  the  best  of  the  game. 
What  a  curious  girl  she  is — a  living  paradox!" 

"How's  that?" 

"Spanish,  you  know.  Ought  to  have  black 
hair  instead  of  red — black  eyes  instead  of — well, 
chestnut  about  expresses  the  color  of  hers.  I 
call  them  witch's  eyes,  they're  so  full  of  fire  and 
—the  devil!" 

"She's  French,  too,  isn't  she?  That  accounts 
for  the  eyes.  The  beaute  du  diable,  hers  is! 
Couldn't  she  make  a  heaven  for  a  man  if  she 
would — or  a  hell?" 

"Yes,  it's  in  her!  She's  doomed,  you  know! 
Her  grandmothers  before  her  were  bad  women 
— regular  witches,  they  say,  with  a  good,  big 
streak  of  yellow.  Couldn't  keep  their  heads  on 
their  shoulders — couldn't  be  faithful  to  any  one 
man.  Don't  know  as  they  tried!" 

"I'll  bet  they  made  it  interesting  for  the  fellow 
while  it  did  last,  anyway!  But  this  one  will 
never  be  happy.  She  has  a  tragedy  in  her  face, 
if  ever  a  woman  had.  But  she's  a  man's  woman, 
all  right,  and  she'd  make  life  worth  living  if  a 


166 


ONE  DAY 

fellow  had  any  red  blood  in  him.  She's  one  of 
those  women  who  are  born  for  nothing  else  in 
the  world  but  to  love,  and  be  loved.  Can't  you 
shoot  the  Count?" 

"The  Count ! — Hell !  He  won't  be  considered 
at  all  after  a  little!  She'll  find  plenty  of  men 
glad  to  wake  the  devil  in  her — just  to  keep  her 
from  yawning!  But  she's  not  very  tractable 
even  now,  though  her  sins  all  lie  ahead  of  her! 
She's  altogether  too  cool  on  the  surface  for  her 
make-up,  but — well,  full  of  suggestion,  and  one 
feels  a  volcano  surging  and  steaming  just  below 
the  mask  she  wears,  and  has  an  insane  desire  to 
wake  it  up!  That  kind  of  woman  simply  can't 
help  it." 

A  third  voice  broke  in  on  the  conversation — 
an  older  voice — the  voice  of  a  man  who  had 
lived  and  observed  much. 

"I  saw  her  often  as  a  child,"  he  said,  "a  peril- 
ously wilful  child,  determined  upon  her  own 
way,  and  possessed  of  her  own  fancies  about 
this,  that,  and  the  other,  which  were  seldom,  if 
ever,  the  ideas  of  anyone  else.  There  was  always 
plenty  of  excitement  where  she  was — always 

167 


ONE  DAY 

that  same  disturbing  air!  Even  with  her  pig- 
tails and  pinafores,  one  could  see  the  woman  in 
her  eyes.  But  she  was  a  provoking  little  crea- 
ture, always  dreaming  of  impossible  romances. 
Her  father  had  his  hands  full." 

"As  her  husband  will  have,  poor  devil!  If  he's 
man  enough  to  hold  her,  all  right.  If  he  is  not," 
with  a  significant  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "it's 
his  own  lookout!" 

"That  old  French  roue  hold  her?  You're 
dreaming!  She  won't  be  faithful  to  him  a  week 
— if  he  has  a  handsome  valet,  or  a  half-way  manly 
groom!  How  could  she?"  And  they  laughed 
coarsely. 

The  Boy  gave  them  a  look  that  should  have 
annihilated  all  three,  but  they  weren't  noticing 
the  Boy.  He  could  have  throttled  them!  How 
dared  such  lips  as  these  pollute  his  darling's 
name!  And  yet  these  were  society  men — they 
could  dance  with  her,  clasp  her  to  them,  and 
look  into  those  "witch  eyes" — oh,  the  ignominy 
of  it! 

He  looked  across  at  Opal.  How  beautiful  she 
was  in  her  pale  green  gown,  her  white  shoulders 

1 68 


ONE  DAY 

and  arms  glistening  beneath  the  electric  light 
with  the  sheen  of  polished  marble,  her  red- 
brown  hair  glowing  with  its  fiery  lure,  while 
even  across  the  room  her  eyes  sparkled  like  dia- 
monds, lighting  up  her  whole  face.  She  was 
certainly  enjoying  herself — this  Circe  who  had 
tempted  him  across  the  seas.  She  seemed  pos- 
sessed of  the  very  spirit  of  mischief — and  Paul 
forgot  himself. 

The  orchestra  was  playing  a  Strauss  waltz — it 
fired  his  blood.  He  walked  across  the  room 
with  his  masterful,  authoritative  air — the  man- 
ner of  a  man  born  to  command.  "Miss 
Ledoux,"  he  said,  and  the  crowd  around  her 
instinctively  made  way  for  him,  "this  is  our 
waltz,  I  believe!"  and  whirled  her  away  before 
she  could  answer. 

Ah!  it  was  delicious,  that  waltz!  In  perfect 
rhythm  they  clung  together,  gliding  about  the 
polished  floor,  her  bare  shoulder  pressing  his 
arm,  her  head  with  its  bewildering  perfume  so 
near  his  lips,  their  hearts  throbbing  fiercely  in 
the  ecstasy  of  their  nearness — which  was  Love. 

Oh  to  go  on  forever !  forever ! 

169 


ONE  DAY 

The  sweet  cadence  of  the  music  died  away, 
and  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  startled. 

"You  seem  to  be  acquiring  the  habit,"  she 
pouted,  but  her  lips  quivered,  and  in  response  he 
whispered  in  her  ear,  "Whose  waltz  was  it, 
sweetheart?" 

"I  don't  know,  Paul — nor  care!" 

That  was  enough. 

They  left  the  room  together. 


170 


IN  a  secluded  corner  adjoining  the  ballroom, 
Paul  and  Opal  stood  hand  in  hand,  con- 
scious only  of  being  together,  while  their 
two  hearts  beat  a  tumultuous  acknowledgment 
of  that  world-old  power  whose  name,  in  what- 
ever guise  it  comes  to  us,  is  Love! 

"I  said  I  wouldn't,  Paul!"  at  last  she  said. 

"Wouldn't  what?" 

"See  you  again — like  this!" 

Paul  smiled  tenderly. 

"My  darling,"  he  whispered,  "what  enchant- 
ment have  you  cast  over  me  that  all  my  resolu- 
tions to  give  you  up  fade  away  at  the  first 
glimpse  of  your  face?  I  resolve  to  be  brave  and 
remember  my  duty — until  I  see  you — and  then  I 
forget  everything  but  you — I  want  nothing  but 
you!" 

"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Paul?" 


171 


ONE  DAY 

"Opal!"  he  cried  impetuously.  "After  seeing 
these  gay  Lotharios  making  eyes  at  you  all  the 
evening,  can  you  ask  me  that?  I  want  to  take 
you  away  and  hide  you  from  every  other  man's 
sight — that's  what  I  want!  It  drives  me  crazy 
to  see  them  look  at  you  that  way!  But  you 
have  such  a  way  of  keeping  a  fellow  at  arm's 
length  when  you  want  to,"  he  went  on,  ruefully, 
"in  spite  of  the  magic  call  of  your  whole  tempt- 
ing personality.  You  know  'Die  Walkure'  don't 
you? — but  of  course  you  do.  If  I  believed  in  the 
theory  of  reincarnation,  I  should  feel  sure  that 
you  were  Briinhilde  herself,  surrounded  by  the 
wall  of  fire!" 

"I  wish  I  were!  I  wish  every  woman  had 
some  such  infallible  way  of  proving  every  man 
who  seeks  her !" 

"You  have,  Opal!  You  have  your  own 
womanly  instincts — every  woman's  impassable 
wall  of  fire,  if  she  will  only  hide  behind  them. 
You  could  never  love  unworthily!" 

"But,  Paul,  don't  you  know?  Haven't  they 
told  you?  I  shall  probably  marry  the  Count 
de  Roannes !" 


172 


ONE  DAY 

Paul  was  astounded. 

"Opal!  No!  No!  Not  that,  surely  not  that! 
I  heard  it,  yes — a  moment  ago.  But  I  could  not 
believe  it.  The  idea  was  too  horrible.  It  could 
not  be  true! 

"But  it  is  true,  Paul!    It  is  all  too  true!" 

"It  is  a  crime,"  he  fairly  groaned. 

She  shrank  from  him.  "Don't  say  that, 
Paul!" 

"But  you  know  it  is  true!  Opal,  just  think! 
If  you  give  your  sweet  self  to  him — and  that  is 
all  you  can  give  him,  as  you  and  I  know — if  you 
give  yourself  to  him,  I  say,  I — I  shall  go  mad!" 

"Yet  women  have  loved  him,"  she  began, 
bravely,  attempting  to  defend  herself.  "Women 
— some  kinds  of  women — really  love  him  now. 
He  has  a  power  of — compelling — love — even 
yet!" 

"And  such  women,"  Paul  cried  hoarsely,  "are 
more  to  be  honored  than  you  if  you  consent  to 
become  his  property  with  no  love  in  your  heart! 
Don't  plead  extenuating  circumstances.  There 
can  be  no  extenuating  circumstances  vi  all  the 
world  for  such  a  thing." 


173 


ONE  DAY 

She  winced  as  though  he  had  struck  her,  for 
she  knew  in  her  heart  that  what  he  said  was 
true,  brutally  true.  The  Boy  was  only  voicing 
her  own  sentiments — the  theory  to  which  she 
had  always  so  firmly  clung. 

As  Paul  paused,  a  sudden  realization  of  his 
own  future  overwhelmed  him  and  locked  his 
lips.  He  smiled  sadly.  Who  was  he  that  he 
should  talk  like  that?  Was  not  he,  too,  plead- 
ing extenuating  circumstances?  True,  he  was  a 
man  and  she  was  a  woman,  and  the  world  has 
two  distinct  standards — but — no  less  than  she — 
he  was  selling  himself  for  gain. 

"Paul,  Paul!  I'm  afraid  you  don't  under- 
stand! It  isn't  money.  Surely  you  don't  think 
that!  It  isn't  money — it  is  honor — honor,  do 
you  hear?  My  dead  mother's  honor,  and  my 
father's  breaking  heart !" 

The  secret  was  out,  at  last.  This,  then,  was 
the  shadow  that  had  cast  its  gloom  over  the 
family  ever  since  he  had  come  in  contact  with 
them.  It  was  even  worse  than  he  had  thought. 
That  she — the  lovely  Opal — should  have  to  sac- 
rifice her  own  honor  to  save  her  mother's! 


174 


ONE  DAY 

Honor!  honor!  how  many  crimes  are  com- 
mitted in  thy  name! 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  sympathetically. 

And  she  told  him,  sparing  herself  details,  as 
far  as  possible,  of  the  storm  of  scandal  about  to 
burst  upon  the  family — a  storm  from  which  only 
the  sacrifice  of  herself  could  save  the  family 
name  of  Ledoux,  and  her  mother's  memory.  It 
might,  or  might  not,  be  tit:;-,  but  the  Count  de 
Roannes  claimed  to  be  able — and  ready — to 
bring  proof.  And,  if  it  were  true,  she  was  not  a 
Ledoux  at  all,  and  her  father  was  not  her  father 
at  all,  except  in  name.  No  breath  of  il1  -*ame 
had  ever  reached  her  mother's  naiu^  before. 
They  had  thought  she  'had  happily  escaped  the 
curse  of  her  mother  before  her.  But  the  Count 
claimed  to  know,  and — well,  he  wanted  her — 
Opal — and,  of  course,  it  was  possible,  and  of 
course  he  would  do  anything  to  protect  the 
good  name  of  his  wife,  if  Opal  became  his  wife, 
and 

"So,  you  see,  Paul — in  the  end,  I  shall  have 
to — submit !" 


175 


ONE  DAY 

She  had  not  told  it  at  all  well,  she  thought, 
but  Paul  little  cared  how  the  story  was  told. 

"I  do  not  see  it  that  way  at  all,  Opal.  It 
seems  to  me — well,  diabolical,  and  may  God 
help  you,  dear  girl,  when  you,  with  your  high- 
keyed  sensitive  nature,  first  wake  to  the  infamy 
of  it!  I  have  no  right  to  interfere — no  right  at 
all.  Not  even  my  love  for  you,  which  is  stronger 
than  myself,  gives  me  that  right.  For  I  am 
betrothed!  I  tell  you  this  because  I  see  where 
my  folly  has  led  us.  There  is  only  one  thing  to 
do.  We  must  part — and  at  once.  I  am  sorry" 
— then  he  thought  of  that  first  meeting  on 
board  the  liner,  "no,  I  am  not  sorry  we  met!  I 
shall  never  be  that!  But  I  am  going  to  be  a 
man.  I  am  going  to  do  my  duty.  Help  me, 
Opal — help  me!" 

It  was  the  old  appeal  of  the  man  to  the  help- 
meet God  had  created  for  him,  and  the  woman 
in  her  responded. 

"Paul,  I  will!"  and  her  little  fingers  closed 
over  his. 

"Of  course  he  loves  you — in  his  way, 
but " 


176 


ONE  DAY 

"Don't,  Paul,  don't!  He  has  never  once  pre- 
tended that — he  has  been  too  wise." 

"He  will  break  your  spirit,  dear — it's  his  na- 
ture. And  then  he  will  break  your  heart!" 

She  raised  her  head,  defiantly. 

"Break  my  spirit,  Paul?  He  could  not.  And 
as  for  my  heart— that  will  never  be  his  to 
break!" 

Their  eyes  met  with  the  old  understanding 
that  needs  no  words.  Then  she  pointed  to  the 
heavens. 

"See  the  stars,  Paul,  smiling  down  so  calmly. 
How  can  they  when  hearts  are  aching?  When 
I  was  a  child,  I  loved  the  stars.  I  fancied,  too, 
that  they  loved  me,  and  I  would  run  out  under 
their  watchful  eyes,  singing  for  very  joy,  sure 
they  were  guiding  my  life  and  that  some  day  I 
would  be  happy,  gloriously  happy.  Somehow, 
Paul,  I  always  expected  to  be  happy — always! — 
till  now!  Now  the  stars  seem  to  mock  me.  I 
must  have  been  born  under  a  baleful  conjunc- 
tion, I  guess.  Oh,  I  told  you,  Paul,  that  Opals 
were  unlucky.  I  warned  you — didn't  I  warn 


177 


ONE  DAY 

you?  I  may  have  tempted  you,  too,  but — I 
didn't  mean  to  do  it!" 

"Bless  your  dear  heart,  girl,  you  weren't  to 
blame!" 

"But  you  said — that  night — about  the 
tiger " 

"Forgive  me,  Opal,  I  was  not  myself.  I  was 
— excited.  I  didn't  mean  that." 

After  a  moment,  she  said,  musingly, 

"It  is  just  as  I  said,  Paul.  I  was  born  to  go 
to  the  devil,  so  it  is  well — well  for  you,  I  mean — 
and  perhaps  for  me — that  you  and  I  cannot 
marry."  He  shook  his  head,  but  she  went  on, 
unheeding.  "Paul,  if  I  am  destined  to  be  a  dis- 
grace to  someone — and  they  say  I  am — I'd 
rather  bring  reproach  upon  his  name  than  on 
yours!" 

"But  why  marry  at  all,  if  you  feel  like  that? 
Why,  it's — it's  damnable!" 

"Don't  you  see,  Paul,  I  am  foreordained  to 
evil — marked  a  bad  woman  from  the  cradle! 
Marriage  is  the  only  salvation,  you  know,  for 
girls  with  my  inheritance.  It's  the  sanctuary 


178 


ONE  DAY 

that  keeps  a  woman  good  and  'happy  ever 
after.'  " 

"It  would  be  more  apt,  in  my  opinion,  to 
drive  one  to  forbidden  wine!  A  marriage  like 
that,  I  mean — for  one  like  you." 

"But  at  least  a  married  woman  has  a  name — 
whatever  she  may  do.  She's — protected.  She 
isn't " 

But  Paul  would  hear  no  more. 

"Opal,  we  were  made  for  each  other  from  the 
beginning — surely  we  were.  Some  imp  has 
slipped  into  the  scheme  of  things  somewhere 
and  turned  it  upside  down." 

He  paused.  She  looked  up  searchingly  into 
his  eyes. 

"Paul,  do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes,  dearest!" 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"As  sure  as  I  am  of  my  own  existence !  With 
all  my  heart,  Opal — with  all  my  soul!" 

"Then  we  mustn't  see  each  other  any  more!" 

"Not  any  more.  You  are  right,  Opal,  not  any 
more!" 

"But  what  shall  we  do,  Paul?    We  shall  be 


179 


ONE  DAY 

sure  to  meet  often.  You  expect  to  stay  the 
summer  through,  do  you  not?  And  we  are  not 
going  to  New  Orleans  for  several  weeks  yet — 
and  then?" 

"We  are  going  West,  Father  Paul  and  I — out 
on  the  prairies  to  rough  it  for  a  while.  We  were 
going  before  long,  anyway,  and  a  few  weeks 
sooner  or  later  won't  make  any  difference.  And 
then — home,  back  over  the  sea  again,  to  face 
life,  to  work,  to  try  to  be — strong,  I  suppose." 

Paul  paused  and  looked  at  her  passionately. 

"Why  are  you  so  alluring  to-night,  Opal?" 

Her  whole  body  quivered,  caught  fire  from 
the  flame  in  his  eyes.  What  was  there  about 
this  man  that  made  her  always  so  conscious  she 
was  a  woman  ?  Why  could  she  never  be  calm  in 
his  presence,  but  was  always  so  fated  to 
feel,  feel,  feel! 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  looked  up  at  him 
and  answered, 

"Am  I  wicked,  Paul?  I  wanted  to  be  happy 
to-night — just  for  to-night !  I  wanted  to  forget 
the  fate  that  was  staring  me  so  relentlessly  in 
the  face.  But— I  couldn't,  Paul!" 


ONE  DAY 

Then  she  glanced  through  the  Curtains  into 
the  ballroom  and  shuddered. 

"The  Count  is  looking  for  me,"  she  said.  The 
Boy  winced,  and  she  went  on  rapidly,  excitedly. 
"We  must  part.  As  well  now  as  any  time,  I  sup- 
pose, since  it  has  to  be.  But  first,  Paul,  let  me 
say  it  once — just  once — /  love  you!" 

He  snatched  her  to  him — God!  that  any  one 
else  should  ever  have  the  right! 

"And  I — worship  you,  Opal!  Even  that 
seems  a  weak  word,  to-night.  But — you  under- 
stand, don't  you?  I  didn't  know  at  sea  whether 
it  was  love  or  what  it  was  that  had  seized  me 
as  nothing  ever  had  before.  But  I  know  now! 
And  listen,  Opal — this  isn't  a  vow,  nor  anything 
of  that  kind — but  I  feel  that  I  want  to  say  it. 
I  shall  always  love  you  just  this  way — always — 
I  feel  it,  I  know  it! — as  long  as  I  live!  Will  you 
remember,  darling? — remember — everything?" 

"Yes— yes !    And  you,  Paul  ?" 

"Till  death!"  And  his  lips  held  hers,  regard- 
less of  ten  thousand  Counts  and  their  claims 
upon  her  caresses. 

And  they  clung  together  again  in  the  anguish 


181 


ONE  DAY 

of  parting  that  comes  at  some  time  or  another 
into  the  lives  of  all  who  know  love. 

Then  like  mourners  walking  away  from  the 
graves  of  their  loved  ones,  they  returned  to  the 
ballroom,  with  the  dull  ache  of  buried  happiness 
in  their  hearts. 


182 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OUT — far  out — in  the  great  American  West, 
the  Boy  wandered.  And  Paul  Verdayne, 
understanding  as  only  he  could  under- 
stand, felt  how  little  use  his  companionship  and 
sympathy  really  were  at  this  crisis  of  the  Boy's- 
life. 

All  through  the  month  of  August  they  trav- 
elled, the  Boy  looking  upon  the  land  he  had  been 
so  eager  to  see  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing  but  his 
own  disappointment,  and  the  barrenness  of  his 
future.  The  hot  sun  beat  down  upon  the  shade- 
less  prairies  with  the  intensity  of  a  living  flame. 
But  it  seemed  as  nothing  to  the  heat  of  his  own 
passion — his  own  fiery  rebellion  against  the  de- 
cree of  destiny — altogether  powerless  against  the 
withering  despair  that  had  choked  all  the  aspira- 
tions and  ambitions  which,  his  whole  life  long,  he 
had  cultivated  and  nourished  in  the  soil  of  his 
developing  soul. 

He  thought  again  and  again  of  the  glories  so 
near  at  hand — the  glories  that  had  for  years  been 


"83 


ONE  DAY 

the  goal  of  his  ambition.  He  pictured  the  pageant 
to  come — the  glitter  of  armor  and  liveries,  the 
splendor  and  sparkle  of  jewels  and  lights,  and 
all  the  dazzling  gorgeousness  of  royal  equipments 
— the  throngs  of  courtiers  and  beautiful  women 
bowing  before  him,  proud  of  the  privilege  of  do- 
ing him  homage — him,  a  mere  boy — yet  the  king 
— the  absolute  monarch  of  his  little  realm,  and  su- 
preme in  his  undisputed  sway  over  the  hearts  of 
his  people — his  people  who  had  worshipped  his 
beautiful  mother  and,  if  only  for  her  sake,  made 
an  idol  of  her  son.  He  saw  himself  crowned  by 
loving  hands  with  the  golden  circlet  he  loved  and 
reverenced,  and  meant  to  redeem  from  the  stigma 
of  a  worthless  father's  abuse  and  desecration ;  he 
saw  his  own  young  hands,  strong,  pure,  and  un- 
defiled  by  any  form  of  bribery  or  political  cor- 
ruption, wielding  the  sceptre  that  should — please 
God! — bring  everlasting  honor  and  fame  to  the 
little  principality.  He  saw  all  this,  and  yet  it 
did  not  thrill  him  any  more !  It  was  all  Dead  Sea 
fruit,  dust  and  ashes  in  his  hand.  He  wanted 
but  one  thing  now — and  his  whole  kingdom  did 
not  weigh  one  pennyweight  against  it. 

184 


ONE  DAY 

But  in  spite  of  his  preoccupation  the  freedom 
and  massiveness  of  the  West  broadened  the  Boy's 
mental  vision.  He  absorbed  the  spirit  of  the  big 
world  it  typified,  and  he  saw  things  more  clearly 
than  in  the  crowded  city.  And  yet  he  suffered 
more,  too.  He  could  not  often  talk  about  his  sor- 
row and  his  loss,  but  he  felt  all  the  time  the  un- 
spoken sympathy  in  Verdayne's  companionship, 
and  was  grateful  for  the  completeness  of  the  un- 
derstanding between  them. 

Once,  far  out  in  a  wide  expanse  of  sparsely  set- 
tled land,  the  two  came  upon  a  hut — a  little  rough 
shanty  with  a  sod  roof,  and  probably  but  two  tiny 
rooms  at  most.  It  was  nearing  evening,  and  the 
red  rays  of  the  setting  sun  fell  upon  a  young 
woman,  humbly  clad,  sitting  on  a  bench  at  the 
doorway,  and  cuddling  upon  her  knee  a  lit- 
tle baby  dressed  in  coarse,  but  spotlessly  white 
garments.  A  whistle  sounded  on  the  still  air,  and 
through  the  waving  grain  strode  a  stalwart  man, 
an  eager,  expectant  light  in  his  bronzed  face.  The 
girl  sprang  to  meet  him  with  an  inarticulate  cry 
of  joy,  and  wife  and  baby  were  soon  clasped  close 
to  his  breast. 


185 


ONE  DAY 

Paul  could  not  bear  it.  He  turned  away  with 
a  sob  in  his  throat  and  looked  into  Verdayne's 
eyes  with  such  an  expression  of  utter  hopelessness 
that  the  older  man  felt  his  own  eyes  moisten  with 
the  fervor  of  his  sympathy.  That  poor,  humble 
ranchman  possessed  something  that  was  denied 
the  Boy,  prince  of  the  blood  though  he  was. 

And  the  two  men  talked  of  commonplace  sub- 
jects that  night  in  subdued  tones  that  were  close 
to  tears.  Both  hearts  were  aching  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  unutterable  and  irreparable  loss. 


Through  the  long  nights  that  followed,  out 
there  in  the  primitive,  Paul  thought  of  the  hid- 
eousness  of  life  as  he  saw  it  now,  with  a  loathing 
that  time  seemed  only  to  increase.  He  pictured 
Opal — his  love — as  the  wife  of  that  old  French 
libertine,  till  his  soul  revolted  at  the  very  thought. 
Such  a  thing  was  beyond  belief. 

Once  he  said  to  Verdayne,  thinking  of  the  con- 
versation he  had  had  with  Opal  on  the  night  of 
the  ball  at  the  Plaza, 

"Father  Paul,  who  was  Lord  Hubert  Aldring- 


186 


ONE  DAY 

ham  ?  The  name  sounds  so  familiar  to  me — yet  I 
can't  recall  where  I  heard  it." 

"Why,  he  was  my  uncle,  Boy,  my  mother's 
brother.  A  handsome,  wicked,  devil-may-care 
sort  of  fellow  to  whom  nothing  was  sacred.  You 
must  have  heard  us  speak  of  him  at  home,  for 
mother  was  very  fond  of  him." 

"And  you,  Father  Paul?" 

"I — detested  him,  Boy !" 

And  then  the  Boy  told  him  something  that 
Opal  had  said  to  him  of  the  possibility — nay,  the 
probability — of  Lord  Hubert's  being  her  own 
grandfather.  Verdayne  was  pained — grieved  to 
the  heart — at  the  terrible  significance  of  this — if 
it  were  true.  And  there  was  little  reason,  alas,  to 
doubt  it!  How  closely  their  lives  were  woven 
together — Paul's  and  Opal's!  How  merciless 
seemed  the  demands  of  destiny! 

What  a  juggler  of  souls  Fate  was ! 


And  the  month  of  August  passed  away.  And 
September  found  the  two  men  still  wandering  in 
an  aimless  fashion  about  the  prairie  country,  and 


is/ 


ONE  DAY 

yet  with  no  desire  for  change.  The  Boy  was 
growing  more  and  more  dissatisfied,  less  and  less 
resigned  to  the  decrees  of  destiny. 

At  last,  one  dull,  gray,  moonless  night,  when 
neither  could  woo  coveted  sleep  to  his  tired  eyes, 
the  Boy  said  to  his  companion,  "Father  Paul,  I'm 
going  to  be  a  man — a  man,  do  you  hear?  I  am 
going  to  New  Orleans — you  know  Mr.  Ledoux 
asked  us  to  come  in  September — and  I'm  going 
to  marry  Opal,  whatever  the  consequences !  I  will 
not  be  bound  to  a  piece  of  flesh  I  abhor,  for  the 
sake  of  a  mere  kingdom — not  for  the  sake  of  a 
world !  I  will  not  sell  my  manhood !  I  will  not 
sacrifice  myself,  nor  allow  the  girl  I  love  to  be- 
come a  burnt-offering  for  a  mother's  sin.  I  will 
not !  Do  you  remember  away  off  there,"  and  he 
pointed  off  to  the  south  of  them,  "the  little  shack, 
and  the  man  and  the  woman  and — the  baby? 
Father  Paul,  I  want — that!  And  I'm  going  to 
have  it,  too !  Do  you  blame  me  ?" 

And  Verdayne  threw  his  arm  around  the  Boy's 
neck,  and  said,  "Blame  you?  No,  Boy,  no!  And 
may  God  bless  and  speed  you !" 

And  the  next  day  they  started  for  the  South. 


188 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  early  in  the  morning,  a  few  days  later, 
when  Paul  Verdayne  and  his  young  friend 
reached  New  Orleans.  Immediately  after 
breakfast — he  would  have  presented  himself  be- 
fore had  he  dared — the  Boy  called  at  the  home 
of  the  Ledouxs.  Verdayne  had  important  letters 
to  write,  as  he  informed  the  Boy  with  a  signifi- 
cant smile,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  remain  be- 
hind. 

And  the  impatient  youth,  blessing  him  mentally 
for  his  tact,  set  forth  alone. 

The  residence  that  he  sought  was  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  beautiful  of  the  many  state- 
ly old  mansions  of  the  city.  It  was  enclosed  by  a 
high  wall  that  hid  from  the  passers-by  all  but  the 
most  tantalizing  glimpses  of  a  fragrant,  green 
tropical  garden,  and  gave  an  air  of  exclusiveness 
to  the  habitation  of  this  proud  old  family.  As 


189 


ONE  DAY 

the  Boy  passed  through  the  heavy  iron  gate,  and 
his  eye  gazed  in  appreciation  upon  the  tints  of 
foliage  no  autumn  chills  had  affected,  and  the 
glints  of  sun  and  shadow  that  only  heightened 
the  splendor  of  blossom,  and  shrub,  and  vine, 
which  were  pouring  their  incense  upon  the  air, 
he  felt  that  he  was  indeed  entering  the  Garden 
of  Eden — the  Garden  of  Eden  with  no  French 
serpents  to  tempt  from  him  the  woman  that  had 
been  created  his  helpmeet. 

He  found  Opal,  and  a  tall,  handsome  young 
man  in  clerical  vestments,  sitting  together  upon 
the  broad  vine-shaded  veranda.  The  girl  greeted 
him  cordially  and  introduced  him  to  the  priest, 
Father  Whitman. 

At  first  Paul  dared  not  trust  himself  to  look 
at  Opal  too  closely,  and  he  did  not  notice  that  her 
face  grew  ashen  at  his  approach.  She  had  recov- 
ered her  usual  self-possession  when  he  finally 
looked  at  her,  and  now  the  only  apparent  sign 
of  unusual  agitation  was  a  slight  flush  upon  her 
cheek — an  excited  sparkle  in  her  eye — which 
might  have  been  the  effect  of  many  causes. 

He  watched  the  priest  curiously.    How  noble- 


190 


ONE  DAY 

looking  he  was !  He  felt  sure  that  he  would  have 
liked  him  in  any  other  garb.  What  did  his  pres- 
ence here  portend? 

Paul  had  supposed  that  Opal  was  a  Catho- 
lic ;  indeed  had  been  but  little  concerned  what  she 
professed.  She  had  never  appeared  to  him  to  be 
specially  religious,  but,  if  she  was,  that  absurd 
idea  of  self-sacrifice  for  a  dead  mother  she  had 
never  known  might  appeal  to  the  love  of  penance 
which  is  inherent  in  all  of  Catholic  faith,  and 
she  might  not  surrender  to  her  great  love  for 
him. 

The  priest  rose. 

"Must  you  go,  Father  ?"  asked  Opal. 

"Yes !   .    .    .   I  will  call  to-morrow,  then  ?" 

"Yes — to-morrow !  And" — she  suddenly  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees  at  his  feet — "your  bless- 
ing, Father,'"  she  begged. 

The  priest  laid  a  hand  upon  her  head,  and 
raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven.  Then,  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross  upon  her  forehead,  he  took  her 
hands  in  his,  and  gently  raised  her  to  her  feet. 
She  clung  to  his  hands  imploringly. 

"Absolution,  Father,"  she  pleaded. 


191 


ONE  DAY 

He  hesitated,  his  face  quivering  with  emotion, 
his  eyes  lustrous  with-  tears,  a  world  of  feeling  in 
every  line  of  his  countenance. 

"Child,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "child !  Don't  tempt 
me!" 

"But  you  must  say  it,  you  know,  or  what  will 
happen  to  me?" 

The  priest  still  hesitated,  but  her  eyes  would 
not  release  him  till  he  whispered,  "Absolvo  te, 
my  daughter,  and — God  bless  you !" 

And  releasing  her  hands,  he  bowed  formally 
to  Paul  and  hurried  down  the  broad  stone  steps 
and  through  the  gate. 

Opal  watched  him,  a  smile,  half-remorseful  and 
half-triumphant,  upon  her  face. 

"What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  asked  Paul  as  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

She  laughed  nervously.  "Oh — nothing !  Only 
— when  I  see  one  of  those  long,  clerical  cassocks, 
I  am  immediately  seized  with  an  insane  desire 
to  find  the  man  inside  the  priest !" 

"Laudable,  certainly!  And  you  always  suc- 
ceed, I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  usually ! — why  not  ?"    And  she  laughed 


IQ2 


ONE  DAY 

again.  "Don't,  Paul!  I  don't  want  to  quarrei 
with  you!" 

"We  won't  quarrel,  Opal,"  he  said.  But  the 
thought  of  the  priest  annoyed  him. 

He  seated  himself  beside  her.  "Have  you  no 
welcome  for  me?"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  sweetly  tender. 

"Of  course,  Paul!  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you 
again — if  you  are  a  bad  boy!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "I,  bad? — 
No,"  he  said.  And  they  laughed  again.  But  it 
was  not  the  care-free  laughter  they  had  known  at 
sea.  There  was  a  strained  note  in  the  tones  of 
the  girl  that  grated  strangely  upon  the  Boy's  sen- 
sitive ear.  What  had  happened?  he  wondered. 
What  was  the  new  barrier  between  them?  Was 
it  the  priest?  Again  the  thought  of  the  priest 
worried  him. 

"Where  is  my  friend,  the  Count  de  Roannes?" 
he  ventured  at  last. 

"He  sailed  for  Paris  last  week." 

Paul's  heart  leaped.  Surely  then  their  legal 
betrothal  had  not  taken  place. 

"What  happened,  Opal?" 


193 


ONE  DAY 

"The  inevitable!" 

And  again  his  heart  bounded  for  joy!  The 
inevitable !  Surely  that  meant  that  the  girl's  bet- 
ter nature  had  triumphed,  had  shown  her  the  ig- 
nominy of  such  a  union  in  time  to  save  her.  He 
looked  at  her  for  further  information,  but  seeing 
her  evident  embarrassment,  forbore  to  pursue  the 
question  further. 

They  wandered  out  through  the  luxurious  gar- 
den, and  the  spell  of  its  enchantment  settled  upon 
them  both. 

He  pulled  a  crimson  rose  from  a  bush  and  began 
listlessly  to  strip  the  thorns  from  the  stalk.  "Roses 
in  September,"  he  said,  "are  like  love  in  the  au- 
tumn of  life." 

And  they  both  thought  again  of  the  Count  and 
a  chill  passed  over  their  spirits.  The  girl  watched 
him  curiously. 

"Do  you  always  cut  the  thorns  from  your 
roses?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly — sooner  or  later.    Don't  you?" 

"O  no!  I  am  a  woman,  you  see,  and  I  only 
hold  my  rose  tightly  in  my  fingers  and  smile  in 


194 


ONE  DAY 

spite  of  the  pricks  as  if  to  convince  the  world  that 
my  rose  has  no  thorns." 

"Is  that  honest?" 

"Perhaps  not — but — yes,  I  think  it  is !  If  one 
really  loves  a  rose,  you  see,  one  forgets  that  it 
has  thorns — really  forgets!" 

"Until  too  late!" 

But  there  was  some  undercurrent  of  hidden 
meaning  even  in  this  subject,  and  Paul  tried  an- 
other. 

He  asked  her  about  the  books  she  had  read 
since  they  parted  and  told  her  of  his  travels.  He 
painted  for  her  a  picture  of  the  little  cabin  on  the 
western  prairie,  with  its  man  and  its  woman  and 
its  baby,  and  she  listened  with  a  strange  softness 
in  her  eyes.  He  felt  that  she  understood. 

There  was  a  tiny  lake  in  the  garden,  and  they 
sat  upon  the  shore  and  looked  into  the  water,  at 
an  unaccountable  loss  for  words.  At  last  Paul, 
with  a  boyish  laugh,  relieved  the  situation  by  roll- 
ing up  his  sleeve  and  dabbling  for  pebbles  in  the 
sand  at  the  bottom. 

There  was  not  much  said — only  a  word  now 
and  then,  but  both,  in  spite  of  their  consciousness 


195 


ONE  DAY 

of  the  barrier  between  them,  were  rejoicing1  in  the 
fact  that  they  were  together,  while  Paul,  happy 
in  his  new-born  resolution,  was  singing  in  his 
heart. 

Should  he  tell  her  now  ? 

He  looked  up  quickly. 

"Opal,"  he  said,  "you  knew  I  would  come." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Because — I  love  you !" 

The  girl  tried  to  laugh  away  the  serious  import 
of  his  tone. 

"I  am  not  looking  for  men  to  love  me,  Paul," 
she  said. 

"No,  that's  the  trouble.    You  never  have  to." 

He  turned  away  again  and  for  a  few  moments 
had  no  other  apparent  aim  in  life  than  a  careful 
scrutiny  of  the  limpid  water. 

Somehow  he  felt  a  chill  underlying  her  most 
casual  words  to-day.  What  had  become  of  the 
freemasonry  between  them  they  had  both  so  read- 
ily recognized  on  shipboard? 

Just  then  Gilbert  Ledoux  and  his  wife  strolled 
into  the  garden.  They  were  genuinely  pleased 
to  see  Paul  and  insisted  on  keeping  him  for  lunch- 

196 


ONE  DAY 

eon.  The  conversation  drifted  to  his  western  trip 
and  other  less  personal  things  and  not  again  did 
he  have  an  opportunity  to  talk  alone  with  Opal. 

Paul  took  his  departure  soon  after,  promising 
to  return  for  dinner,  and  to  bring  Verdayne  with 
him.  Then,  he  resolved  to  himself,  he  would  tell 
Opal  why  he  had  come.  Then  he  would  claim 
her  as  his  wife — his  queen ! 


And  Paul  kept  his  word. 

That  evening  they  found  themselves  alone  in 
a  deep-recessed  window  facing  the  dimly-lighted 
street. 

"Opal,"  said  Paul,  "do  you  know  why  I  have 
come  to  New  Orleans  ?  Can't  you  imagine,  dear  ?" 

She  instantly  divined  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts, 
and  shook  her  head  in  a  tremor  of  sudden  fright. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I  have  fought  it 
all  out  and  that  I  cannot  live  without  you.  Though 
I  am  breaking  my  plighted  troth,  I  ask  you  to  be- 
come my  wife!" 

Her  eyes  glistened  with  a  strange  lustre. 


197 


ONE  DAY 

"Oh,  Paul!  Paul!"  she  murmured,  faintly. 
"Why  did  you  not  say  this  before — or — why  do 
you  tell  me  now?" 

"Because  now  I  know  I  love  you  more  than 
all  the  world — more  than  my  duty — more  than 
my  life !  Is  that  enough  ?" 

And  Paul  was  about  to  break  into  a  torrent  of 
passionate  appeal,  when  Gilbert  Ledoux  joined 
them  and,  shortly  after,  Mrs.  Ledoux  called  Opal 
to  her  side. 

Opal  looked  miserably  unhappy.  Why  was  she 
not  rejoicing-?  Paul  knew  that  she  loved  him. 
Nothing  could  ever  make  him  doubt  that.  As  he 
stood  wondering,  idly  exchanging  platitudes  with 
his  genial  host,  Mrs.  Ledoux  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
ringing  emphasis  that  lingered  in  Paul's  ears  all 
the  rest  of  his  life,  "I  think,  Opal,  it  is  time  to 
share  our  secret !" 

And  then,  as  the  girl's  face  paled,  and  her  frail 
form  trembled  with  the  force  of  her  emotion,  her 
mother  hastened  to  add,  "Gentlemen,  you  will  re- 
joice with  us  that  our  daughter  was  last  week 
formally  betrothed  to  the  Count  de  Roannes !" 

The  inevitable  had  happened. 

198 


CHAPTER  XVI 

How  THE  remainder  of  the  evening  passed, 
Paul    Zalenska    never    knew.      As    he 
looked  back  upon  it,  during  the  months 
that  followed,  it  seemed  like  some  hideous  dream 
from  which  he  was  struggling  to  awake.     He 
talked,  he  smiled,  he  even  laughed,  but  scarcely 
of  his  own  volition ;  it  was  as  though  another  per- 
sonality acted  through  him. 

He  was  a  temperate  boy,  but  that  night  he 
drank  more  champagne  than  was  good  for  him. 
Paul  Verdayne  was  grieved.  Not  that  he  cen- 
sured the  lad.  He  knew  only  too  well  the  anguish 
the  Boy  was  suffering,  and  he  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  blame  him  for  the  dissipation.  And 
yet  Verdayne  also  knew  how  unavailing  were  all 
such  attempts  to  drown  the  sorrow  that  had  so 
shocked  the  Boy's  sensitive  spirit. 

As  he  gazed  regretfully  at  the  Boy  across  the 
dinner  table,  the  butler  placed  a  cablegram   be- 


199 


ONE  DAY 

fore  him.  Receiving  a  nod  of  permission  from 
his  hostess,  he  hastily  tore  open  the  envelope  and 
paled  at  its  contents. 

The  message  was  signed  by    the  Verdaynes' 
solicitor,  and  read : 

Sir  Charles  very  ill.     Come  immediately. 


Before  they  left  the  house,  Paul  sought  Opal 
for  a  few  last  words.  There  were  no  obstacles 
placed  in  his  way  now  by  anxious  parental  author- 
ity. He  smiled  cynically  as  he  noticed  how  clear 
the  way  was  made  for  him,  now  that  Opal  was 
"safeguarded"  by  her  betrothal. 

She  drew  him  to  one  side,  whispering,  "Before 
you  judge  me  too  harshly,  Paul,  please  listen  to 
what  I  have  to  say.  I  feel  I  have  the  right  to 
make  this  explanation,  and  you  have  the  right  to 
hear  it.  Under  the  French  law,  I  am  legally  bound 
to  the  Count  de  Roannes.  Fearing  that  I  might 
not  remain  true  to  a  mere  verbal  pledge — you 
knew  we  were  engaged,  Paul,  for  I  told  you  that, 

200 


ONE  DAY 

last  summer — the  Count  asked  that  the  betrothal 
papers  be  executed  before  his  unavoidable  return 
to  Paris.  Knowing  no  real  reason  for  delay,  since 
it  had  to  come  some  time,  I  consented ;  but  I  stip- 
ulated that  I  was  to  have  six  months  of  freedom 
before  becoming  his  wife.  Arrangements  have 
been  made  for  us  all  to  go  abroad  next  spring,  and 
we  shall  be  married  in  Paris.  Paul,  I  did  not 
tell  you  this,  this  afternoon — I  could  not!  I 
wanted  to  see  you — the  real  you — just  once  more, 
before  you  heard  the  bitter  news,  for  I  knew  that 
after  you  had  heard,  you  would  never  look  or 
speak  the  same  to  me  again.  Oh,  Paul,  pity  me! 
Pity  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  asked  for  those  six 
months  simply  that  I  might  dedicate  them  to  you, 
and  to  the  burial,  in  my  memory,  of  our  little 
dream  of  love !  It  was  only  my  little  fancy,  Paul ! 
I  wanted  to  play  at  being  constant  that  long  to  our 
dream.  I  wanted  to  wear  my  six-months'  mourn- 
ing for  our  still-born  love.  I  thought  it  was  only 
a  little  game  of  'pretend'  to  you,  Paul — why 
should  it  be  anything  else?  But  it  was  very  real 
to  me." 

Her  voice  broke,  and  the  Boy  took  her  hand  in 

201 


ONE  DAY 

his,  tenderly,  for  his  resentment  had  long  since 
died  away. 

"Opal,"  he  faltered,  "I  no  longer  know  nor  care 
who  or  what  I  am.  This  experience  has  taken  me 
out  of  myself,  and  set  my  feet  in  strange  paths. 
I  had  a  life  to  live,  Opal,  but  I  have  forgotten  it 
in  yours.  I  had  theories,  ideals,  hopes,  aspira- 
tions— but  I  don't  know  where  they  are  now, 
Opal.  They  are  gone — gone  with  your  smile " 

Opal's  eyes  grew  soft  with  caresses. 

"They  will  come  back,  Paul — they  must  come 
back!  They  were  born  in  you — of  Truth  itself, 
not  of  a  mere  woman.  You  will  forget  me,  Boy, 
and  your  life  will  not  be  the  pitiful  waste  you 
think.  It  must  not  be !" 

"I  used  to  think  that,  Opal.  It  never  seemed 
to  me  that  life  could  ever  be  an  utter  waste  so 
long  as  a  man  had  work  to  do  and  the  strength 
and  skill  to  do  it.  But  now — I'm  all  at  sea!  I 
only  know — how — I  shall  miss  you!" 

Opal  grew  thoughtful. 

"And  how  will  it  be  with  me?"  she  said  sadly. 
"I  have  never  learned  to  wear  a  mask.  I  can't 
pose.  I  can't  wear  'false  smiles  that  cover  an 

2O2 


ONE  DAY 

aching  heart'    Perhaps  the  world  may  teach  me 
now — but  I'm  not  a  hypocrite — yet !" 

"I  believe  you,  Opal !  I  love  you  because  you 
are  you!" 

"And  I  love  you,  Paul,  because  you  are  you!" 

And  even  then  he  did  not  clasp  her  in  his  arms, 
nor  attempt  it.  She  was  another's  now,  and  his 
hands  were  tied.  He  must  try  to  control  his  one 
great  weakness — the  longing  for  her. 

And  in  the  few  moments  left  to  them,  they 
talked  and  cheered  each  other,  as  intimate  friends 
on  the  eve  of  a  long  separation.  They  both  knew 
now  that  they  loved — but  they  also  knew  that  they 
must  part — and  forever! 

"I  love  you,  Paul,"  said  Opal,  "even  as  you 
love  me.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  confess  it  again,  be- 
cause— well,  I  am  not  yet  his  wife.  And  I  want 
to  give  you  this  one  small  comfort  to  help  to  make 
you  strong  to  fight  and  conquer,  and — endure !" 

"But,  Opal,  you  are  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  God  meant  for  me!  How  can  I  face  the 
world  without  you?" 

"Better  that  you  should,  Paul,  and  keep  on 
fancying  yourself  loving  me  always,  than  that  you 


203 


ONE  DAY 

should  have  me  for  a  wife,  and  then  weary  of  me, 
as  men  do  weary  of  their  wives !" 

"Opal!    Never!" 

"Oh,  but  you  might,  Boy.  Most  men  do.  It's 
their  nature,  I  suppose." 

"But  it  is  not  my  nature,  Opal,  to  grow  tired 
of  what  1  love.  I  am  not  capricious.  Why  should 
you  think  so  ?" 

"But  it's  human  nature,  Paul;  there  is  no 
denying  that.  To  think,  Paul,  that  we  could  grow 
to  clasp  hands  like  this — that  we  could  kiss — act- 
ually kiss,  Paul,  calmly,  as  women  kiss  each  other 
— that  we  could  ever  rest  in  each  other's  arms 
and  grow  weary !" 

But  Paul  would  not  listen.  He  always  would 
have  loved  her,  always !  He  loved  her,  anyway, 
and  always  would,  were  she  a  thousand  times  the 
Countess  de  Roannes,  but  it  was  too  late!  too 
late ! 

"Always  remember,  Paul,  wherever  you  are 
and  whatever  you  do,"  went  on  Opal,  "that  I  love 
you.  I  know  it  now,  and  I  know  how  much !  Let 
the  memory  of  it  be  an  inspiration  to  you  when 
your  spirits  flag,  and  a  consolation  when  skies  are 

204 


ONE  DAY 

gray,  and — Paul — oh,  I  love  you — love  you — 
that's  all!  Kiss  me — just  once — our  last  good- 
bye! There  can  be  no  harm  in  that,  when  it's 
for  the  last  time !" 

And  Paul,  with  a  heart-breaking  sob,  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers  as  one 
kisses  the  face  of  his  beloved  dead.  He  wondered 
vaguely  why  he  felt  no  passion — wondered  at  the 
utter  languor  of  the  senses  that  did  not  wake  even 
as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  It  was  not  a 
woman's  body  in  his  arms — but  as  the  sexless 
form  of  one  long  dead  and  lost  to  him  forever.  It 
was  not  passion  now — it  was  love,  stripped  of  all 
sensuality,  purged  of  all  desire  save  the  longing 
to  endure. 

It  was  the  hour  of  love's  supremest  triumph — 
renunciation ! 


205 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BACK  in  England  again — England  in  the  fall 
of  the  year — England  in  the  autumn  of 
life,  for  Sir  Charles  Verdayne  was  near- 
ing  his  end.    The  Boy  spent  a  few  weeks  at  Ver- 
dayne Place,  and  then  left  to  pay  his  first  visit 
to  his  fiancee.     Paul  Verdayne  was  prevented  by 
his  father's  ill  health  from  accompanying  him  to 
Austria,  as  had  been  the  original  plan. 

Opal  had  asked  of  the  Boy  during  that  last 
strange  hour  they  had  spent  together  that  he 
should  make  this  visit,  and  bow  obediently  to  the 
call  of  destiny — as  she  had  done.  She  did  not 
know  who  he  really  was,  nor  what  station  in  life 
his  fiancee  graced,  but  she  did  know  that  it  was 
his  duty  bravely  and  well  to  play  his  part  in  the 
drama  of  life,  whatever  the  role.  She  would  not 
have  him  shirk.  It  was  a  horrible  thing,  she  had 
said  with  a  shudder — none  knew  it  better  than  she 

207 


ONE  DAY 

— but  she  would  be  glad  all  her  life  to  think  that 
he  had  been  no  coward,  and  had  not  cringed 
beneath  the  bitterest  blow  of  fate,  but  had  been 
strong  because  she  loved  him  and  believed  in 
him. 

And  so,  since  Paul  Verdayne  could  not  be  ab- 
sent from  his  father's  side,  with  many  a  reluctant 
thought  the  Boy  set  forth  for  Austria  alone. 

During  his  absence,  Isabella — she  who  had  been 
Isabella  Waring — returned  from  Blackheath  a 
widow  with  two  grown  daughters — two  more 
modern  editions  of  the  original  Isabella.  The 
widow  herself  was  graver  and  more  matronly,  yet 
there  was  much  of  the  old  Isabella  left,  and  Ver- 
dayne was  glad  to  see  her.  Lady  Henrietta  gave 
her  a  cordial  invitation  to  visit  Verdayne  Place, 
which  she  readily  accepted,  passing  many  pleasant 
hours  with  the  friend  of  her  youth  and  helping 
to  while  away  the  long  days  that  Verdayne  found 
so  tiresome  when  the  Boy  was  away  from  him. 

Isabella  was  still  "a  good  sort,"  and  made  life 
much  less  unbearabk  than  it  might  have  been,  but 
Verdayne  often  smiled  to  think  of  the  "puppy- 
love"  he  had  once  felt  for  her.  It  was  amusing, 


208 


ONE  DAY 

now,  and  they  both  laughed  over  it — though  Isa- 
bella would  not  have  been  a  woman  had  she  not 
wondered  at  times  why  her  "old  pal"  had  never 
married.  There  had  been  chances,  lots  of  them, 
for  the  girls  had  always  liked  the  blue-eyed,  manly 
boy  he  had  been,  and  petted  and  flattered  and 
courted  him  all  through  his  youth.  Why  hadn't 
he  chosen  one  of  them?  Had  he  really  cared  so 
much  for  her — Isabella?  And  she  often  found 
herself  looking  with  much  pitying  tenderness  upon 
the  lonely  man,  whose  heart  seemed  so  empty  of 
the  family  ties  it  should  have  fostered — and  won- 
dering. 

Lady  Henrietta,  too,  was  set  to  thinking  as  the 
days  went  by,  and  turning,  one  night,  to  her  son, 
"Paul,"  she  said,  "I  begin  to  think  that  perhaps 
I  was  wrong  in  separating  you  from  the  girl  you 
loved,  and  so  spoiling  your  life.  Isabella  would 
have  made  you  a  fairly  good  wife,  I  believe,  as 
wives  go,  and  you  must  forgive  your  mother,  who 
meant  it  for  the  best.  She  did  not  see  the  way 
clearly,  then,  and  so  denied  you  the  one  great 
desire  of  your  heart." 

She  looked  at  him  closely,  but  his  heart  was 

209 


ONE  DAY 

no  longer  worn  upon  his  sleeve,  and  finding  his 
face  non-committal,  she  went  on  slowly,  feeling 
her  way  carefully  as  she  advanced. 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  too  late  now,  my  son.  Don't 
let  my  prejudices  stand  in  your  way  again,  for 
you  are  still  young  enough  to  be  happy,  and  I 
shall  be  truly  glad  to  welcome  any  wife — any !" 

Verdayne  did  not  reply.  His  eyes  were  study- 
ing the  pattern  of  the  rug  beneath  his  feet.  His 
mother's  face  flushed  with  embarrassment  at  the 
delicacy  of  the  subject,  but  she  stumbled  on 
bravely. 

"Paul,"  she  said,  "Isabella  is  young  yet,  and  you 
are  not  so  very  old.  It  may  not,  even  now,  be  too 
late  to  hold  a  little  grandchild  on  my  knee  before 
I  die.  I  have  been  so  fond  of  Paul — he  is  so  very 
like  you  when  you  were  a  boy — and  have  wished 
— oh,  you  don't  know  how  a  mother  feels,  Paul — 
I  have  often  wished  that  he  were  your  son,  or  that 
I  might  have  had  a  grandson  just  like  him.  Do 
you  know,  Paul,  I  have  often  fancied  that  your 
son,  had  you  had  one,  would  have  been  very  like 
this  dear  Boy." 

Verdayne  choked  back  a  sob.    If  his  mother 

2IO 


ONE  DAY 

could  only  understand  as  some  women  would  have 
understood !  If  he  could  have  told  her  the  truth ! 
But,  no,  he  never  could.  Even  now  it  would 
have  been  a  terrible  shock  to  her,  and  she  could 
never  have  forgiven,  never  held  up  her  head  again, 
if  she  had  known. 

As  for  marrying  Isabella — could  he?  After  all, 
was  it  right  to  let  the  old  name  die  out  for  want 
of  an  heir?  Was  it  just  to  his  father?  And  Isa- 
bella would  not  expect  to  be  made  love  to.  There 
was  never  that  sort  of  nonsense  about  her,  and  she 
would  make  all  due  allowance  for  his  age  and  se- 
riousness. 

His  mother  felt  she  had  been  very  kind  and 
generous  in  renouncing  the  old  objection  of  twen- 
ty years'  standing,  and,  too,  she  felt  that  it  was 
only  right,  after  spoiling  her  son's  life  for  so 
long,  to  do  her  best  to  atone  for  the  mistake.  It 
must  be  confessed  she  could  not  see  what  there 
was  about  Isabella  to  hold  the  love  and  loyalty  of 
a  man  like  Paul  for  so  long,  but  then — and  she 
sighed  at  the  thought  of  the  wasted  years — "Love 
is  blind,"  they  say — and  so's  a  lover!  And  her 


211 


ONE  DAY 

motherly  heart  longed  for  grandchildren — Paul's 
children — as  it  had  always  longed  for  them. 

Paul  Verdayne  sat  opposite  his  penitent  mother 
and  pondered.  The  scent  from  a  bowl  of  red  roses 
on  his  mother's  table  almost  overpowered  him  with 
memories. 

He  thought  of  the  couch  of  deep  red  roses  on 
which  he  had  lain,  caressed  by  the  velvet  petals. 
He  could  inhale  their  fragrance  even  yet — he 
could  look  into  her  eyes  and  breathe  the  incense 
of  her  hair — her  whole  glorious  person — that  was 
like  none  other  in  all  the  world.  Yes,  she  had  been 
happy — and  he  would  remember!  She  would  be 
happier  yet  could  she  know  that  he  had  been  faith- 
ful to  his  duty — and  surely  this  was  his  duty  to 
his  race.  His  Queen  would  have  it  so,  he  felt 
sure. 

Rising,  he  bent  over  his  mother,  his  eyes  bright 
with  unshed  tears,  and  kissed  her  calmly  upon  the 
brow.  Then  he  walked  quietly  from  the  room. 
His  resolution  was  firmly  fixed. 

He  would  marry  Isabella ! 


212 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SIR  CHARLES  VERDAYNE  lingered  for  several 
weeks,  no  stronger,  nor  yet  perceptibly 
weaker.  He  took  a  sudden  fancy  to  see  his 
old  friend,  Captain  Grigsby,  and  the  old  salt  was 
accordingly  sent  for.  His  presence  acted  as  a 
tonic  upon  the  dying  man,  and  the  two  old 
friends  spent  many  pleasant  hours  together,  talk- 
ing— as  old  people  delight  in  talking — of  the  days 
of  the  distant  past. 

"Is  this  widow  the  Isabella  who  once  raised  the 
devil  with  your  Paul  ?"  asked  Grigsby. 

"Same  wench !"  answered  Sir  Charles,  a  twin- 
kle in  his  eye. 

"Hum !"  said  the  Captain — and  then  said  again, 
"Hum!"  Then  he  added  meditatively,  "Blasted 
unlucky  kiss  that!  Likely  wench  enough,  but — 
never  set  the  Thames  on  fire ! — nor  me !" 

"Oh  the  kiss  didn't  count,"  said  Sir  Charles. 


213 


ONE  DAY 

"As  I  said  to  the  boy's  mother  at  the  time,  a  man 
isn't  obliged  to  marry  every  woman  he  kisses! 
Mighty  good  thing,  too — eh,  Grig?  Besides,  a 
kiss  like  that  is  an  insult  to  any  flesh  and  blood 
woman !" 

"An  insult?" 

"The  worst  kind!  You  see,  Grig,  no  woman 
likes  to  be  kissed  that  way.  Whether  she's  capable 
of  feeling  a  single  thrill  of  passion  herself  or  not, 
she  likes  to  be  sure  that  she  can  inspire  it  in  a 
man.  And  a  kiss  like  that — well,  it  rouses  all  her 
fighting  blood!  Makes  her  feel  she's  no  woman 
at  all  in  the  man's  eye — merely  a  doll  to  be  kissed. 
D'ye  see?  It's  damned  inconsistent,  of  course,  but 
it's  the  woman  of  it !" 

"The  devil  of  it,  you  mean!"  the  old  Captain 
chuckled  in  response.  Then,  "Paul  had  a  lucky 
escape,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  furtively  around 
the  room  for  listening  ears,  "mighty  lucky  escape ! 
And  an  experience  right  on  the  heels  of  it  to  make 
up  for  the  loss  of  a  hundred  such  wenches  and — 
say,  Charles,  he's  got  a  son  to  be  proud  of !  The 
Boy  is  certainly  worth  all  the  price !" 

"Any  price^-any  price,  Grig!"     Then  the  old 

214 


ONE  DAY 

man  went  on,  "If  Henrietta  only  knew!  She 
thinks  the  world  of  the  youngster,  you  know — 
no  one  could  help  that — but  what  if  she  knew? 
Paul's  been  mighty  cautious.  I  often  laugh  when 
I  see  them  out  together — him  and  the  Boy — and 
think  what  a  sensation  one  could  spring  on  the 
public  by  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  And  the 
woman  would  suffer.  Wouldn't  she,  just! 
Wouldn't  they  tear  her  to  pieces !" 

"Yes,  they  would,"  said  the  Captain,  "they  cer- 
tainly would.  This  is  a  world  of  hypocrites, 
Charles,  damned  rotten  hypocrites!" 

"That's  what  it  is,  Grig!  Not  one  of  those 
same  old  hens  who  would  have  said,  'Ought  we 
to  visit  her?'  and  denounced  the  whole  'immoral' 
affair,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — not  one  of  them, 
I  say,  but  would " 

"Give  her  very  soul  to  know  what  such  a  love 
means!  O  they  would,  Charles — they  would — 
every  damned  old  cat  of  them,  who  would  never 
get  an  opportunity  to  play  the  questionable — no, 
not  one  in  a  thousand  years — if  they  searched  for 
it  forever!" 

"Yet  women  are  made  so,  Grigsby — they  can't 


215 


ONE  DAY 

help  it!  Henrietta  would  faint  at  the  mere  sug- 
gestion of  accepting  as  a  daughter-in-law  a  woman 
with  a  past !" 

And  the  old  man  sighed. 

"I'd  have  given  my  eyes — yes,  I  would,  Grig — 
to  have  seen  that  woman  just  once!  God!  the 
man  she  made  out  of  my  boy !  Of  course  it  may 
have  been  for  the  best  that  it  turned  out  as  it  did, 
but — damn  it  all,  Grig,  she  was  worth  while! 
There's  no  dodging  that !" 

"Nobody  wants  to  dodge  it,  Charles !  She  was 
over-sexed,  perhaps — but  better  that  than  under- 
sexed— -eh  ?" 


But  the  exhilaration  caused  by  the  coming  of 
his  old  friend  gradually  wore  itself  away,  and  Sir 
Charles  began  to  grow  weaker.  And  at  last  the 
end  came.  He  had  grown  anxious  to  see  the  Boy 
again,  and  the  young  fellow  had  returned  and 
spent  much  time  with  the  old  man,  who  loved 
the  sound  of  his  voice  as  it  expressed  his  fresh, 
frank  ideas. 


216 


ONE  DAY 

But  Sir  Charles  spent  his  last  hours  with  his 
son. 

"Paul,"  he  said,  in  a  last  confidential  whisper, 
touching  upon  the  theme  that  had  never  been 
mentioned  between  them  before,  "I  understand — 
everything — you  know,  and  I'm  proud  of  you — 
and  him!  I  have  wanted  to  say  something,  or 
do  something  for  you — often — often — to  help  you 
— but  it's  the  sort  of  thing  a  chap  has  to  fight  out 
for  himself,  and  I  thought  I'd  better  keep  out  of 
it!  But  I  wanted  you  to  know — now — that  I've 
known  it  all — all  along — and  been  proud  of  you — 
both!" 

And  their  hands  clasped  closely,  and  the  eyes 
of  both  were  wet,  but  even  on  the  brink  of  death 
the  lips  of  the  younger  man  were  sealed.  The 
silence  of  one-and-twenty  years  remained  un- 
broken. It  was  not  a  foolish  reticence  that  re- 
strained him — but  simply  that  he  could  not  find 
words  to  voice  the  memories  that  grew  more  and 
more  sacred  with  the  passing  of  the  years. 

Ajtid  at  evening,  when  the  family  had  gathered 
about  him,  the  old  man  lay  with  his  son's  hand  in 
his,  but  his  eyes  loqked  beyond  and  rested  on  the 


217 


ONE  DAY 

face  of  the  Boy,  who  seemed  the  renewal  of  his 
son's  youth,  when  life  was  one  glad  song!  And 
thus  he  passed  to  the  Great  Beyond. 

And  his  son  was  Sir  Paul  Verdayne,  the  last  of 
his  race. 

That  night,  the  young  baronet  and  the  Boy 
sat  alone  over  their  cigars.  The  Boy  spoke  at 
some  length  of  his  extensive  Austrian  visit.  The 
Princess  Elodie  would  make  him  a  good  wife,  he 
said.  She  was  of  good  sturdy  stock,  healthy, 
strong — and,  well,  a  little  heavy  and  dull,  perhaps, 
but  one  couldn't  expect  everything !  At  least,  her 
honor  would  never  be  called  into  question.  He 
would  always  feel  sure  that  his  name  was  safe 
with  her!  He  was  glad  he  went  to  Austria. 
There  were  political  complications  that  he  had 
not  understood  before  which  made  the  marriage 
an  absolute  necessity  for  the  salvation  of  his  coun- 
try's position  among  the  kingdoms  of  the  world, 
and  he  was  more  resigned  to  it  now.  Yes,  indeed, 
he  was  far  more  resigned.  The  princess  wasn't 
by  any  means  impossible — not  a  half  bad  sort— 
and — yes,  he  was  resigned !  He  said  it  over  and 


218 


ONE  DAY 

over,  but  without  convincing  Sir  Paul— or  de- 
ceiving himself! 

As  for  the  elder  man,  he  said  but  little.  He 
had  been  wondering  throughout  that  dinner-hour 
whether  he  could  ever  really  make  Isabella  his 
wife.  The  Boy  thought  of  Isabella,  too,  and  was 
anxious  to  know  whether  his  Father  Paul  was  go- 
ing to  be  happy  at  last.  He  had  been  very  curious 
to  see  the  woman  who  could  play  so  cruel  a  part 
toward  the  man  he  loved.  If  he  had  been  Ver- 
dayne,  he  thought,  he  would  never  forgive  her — 
never!  Still,  if  Father  Paul  loved  the  woman — 
as  he  certainly  must  to  have  remained  single  for 
her  sake  so  long — it  put  a  different  face  on  the 
matter,  and  of  course  it  was  Verdayne's  affair, 
not  his!  The  Boy  had  been  disappointed  in  Isa- 
bella's appearance  and  attractions — she  was  not 
at  all  the  woman  he  had  imagined  his  Father  Paul 
would  love — but  of  course  she  was  older  now, 
and  age  changes  some  women,  and,  and — well,  he 
only  hoped  that  his  friend  would  be  happy — 
happy  in  his  own  way,  whatever  that  might  be. 

At  last,  he  summoned  Vasili  to  him  and  called 
for  his  own  particular  yellow  wine — the  Imperial 

219 


Tokayi — and  the  old  man  filled  the  glasses.  It 
was  too  much  for  Verdayne — and  all  thoughts  of 
Isabella  were  consigned  to  eternal  oblivion  as  he 
remembered  the  time  when  he  had  sipped  that 
wine  with  his  Queen  in  the  little  hotel  on  the 
Biirgenstock. 

She  would  have  no  cause  for  jealousy — his 
darling ! 


22O 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  was  November  when  Sir  Charles  died,  and 
Lady  Henrietta  betook  herself  to  her  sis- 
ter's for  consolation,  while  Sir  Paul  and  the 
Boy,  with  a  common  impulse,  departed  for  India. 

They  spent  Christmas  in  Egypt,  the  winter 
months  in  the  desert,  and  at  last  spring  came,  with 
its  remembrance  of  duties  to  be  done.  And  to 
the  elder  man  England  made  its  insistent  call,  as 
it  always  did  in  March.  For  was  it  not  in  Eng- 
land, and  in  March,  the  tidings  reached  him  that 
unto  him  a  son  was  born? 

He  must  go  back. 

So  at  last,  acting  upon  a  pre-arrangement  to 
which  the  young  Prince  had  not  been  a  party, 
they  made  their  way  back  to  their  own  world  of 
men  and  women. 


"Boy,"  said  Sir  Paul,  one  day,  "the  time  has 
come    when    many    questions    you    have    asked 


221 


ONE  DAY 

and  wondered  about  are  to  be  answered,  as  is 
your  due.     It  was  your  mother's  wish  that  you 
should  go,  at  the  beginning  of  May,  alone,  to 
Lucerne.    There  you  will  find  letters  awaiting  you 
— from  her — from  your  Uncle  Peter — yes,  even 
from  myself — telling  you  the  whole  secret  of  your 
birth,  the  story  of  your  inheritance." 
"Why  Lucerne,  Father  Paul?" 
"It  was  your  mother's  wish — and  mine!" 
Then,  with  a  rush  of  tenderness,  the  older  man 

1 1 

threw  his  arm  around  the  Boy's  shoulders.  "Boy," 
he  said,  "be  charitable  and  lenient  and  kind — 
whatever  you  read !" 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Father  Paul? 
I  have  not  quite  two  weeks  of  freedom  left,  and 
I  begrudge  every  day  I  am  forced  to  spend  away 
from  you.  You  will  go  with  me  to  see  me  crowned 
— and  married?" 

"Certainly,  Boy!  You  are  to  stay  in  Lucerne 
only  until  you  are  sure  you  understand  all  the 
revelations  of  these  letters,  and  their  full  import. 
It  may  be  a  week — it  may  be  a  day — it  may  be 
but  a  few  hours,  but — I  can't  go  with  you,  and  you 
must  not  ask  me  to!  It  is  an  experience  you 


222 


ONE  DAY 

must  face  alone.  I  will  await  you  in  Venice,  Paul, 
and  be  sure  that  when  you  want  me,  Boy,  I  will 
come !" 

The  Boy's  sensitive  nature  was  stirred  to  the 
depths  by  the  emotion  in  Sir  Paul's  face — emotion 
that  all  his  life  long  he  had  never  seen  there  be- 
fore. He  grasped  his  hand — 

"Father  Paul,"  he  began,  but  Sir  Paul  shook 
his  head  at  the  unspoken  appeal  in  his  face  and 
bade  him  be  patient  just  a  little  longer  and  await 
his  letters,  for  he  could  tell  him  nothing. 

And  thus  they  parted ;  the  Boy  to  seek  in  Lu- 
cerne the  unveiling  of  his  destiny,  the  man  to  wait 
in  Venice,  a  place  he  had  shunned  for  one-and- 
twenty  years,  but  which  was  dearer  to  him  than 
any  other  city  in  the  world.  It  was  there  that 
he  had  lived  the  climax  of  his  love-life,  with  its 
unutterable  ecstasy — and  unutterable  pain. 

Vasili  had  preceded  his  young  master  to  Lu- 
cerne with  the  letters  that  had  been  too  precious, 
and  of  too  secret  a  nature,  to  be  entrusted  to  the 
post.  Who  can  define  the  sensations  of  the  young 
prince  as  he  held  in  his  hand  the  whole  solution 
of  the  mystery  that  had  haunted  all  his  years  ?  He 

223 


ONE  DAY 

trembled — paled.  What  was  this  secret — perhaps 
this  terrible  secret — which  was  to  be  a  secret  no 
longer  ? 

Alone  in  his  apartment,  he  opened  the  little 
packet  and  read  the  note  from  the  Regent,  which 
enclosed  the  others,  and  then — he  could  read  no 
further.  The  few  words  of  information  that  there 
stared  him  in  the  face  drove  every  other  thought 
from  his  mind,  every  other  emotion  from  his 
heart.  His  father !  Why  hadn't  he  seen  ?  Why 
hadn't  he  known  ?  A  thousand  significant  memo- 
ries rushed  over  him  in  the  light  of  the  startling 
revelation.  How  blind  he  had  been!  And  he 
sat  for  hours,  unheeding  the  flight  of  time,  think- 
ing only  the  one  thought,  saying  over  and  over 
again  the  one  name,  the  name  of  his  father,  his 
own  father,  whom  he  had  loved  so  deeply  all  his 
life— 

Paul  Verdayne! 


224 


CHAPTER  XX 

AT  last,  when  he  felt  that  he  could  control 
his  scattered  senses,  he  turned  over  the 
letters  in  the  packet  and  found  his  moth- 
er's.    How  his  boyish  heart  thrilled  at  this  mes- 
sage from  the  dead ! — a  message  that  he  had  wait- 
ed for,  and  that  had  been  waiting  for  him,  one- 
and-twenty  years ! 
The  letter  began: 

"Once,  my  baby,  thy  father — long  before  he 
was  thy  father — had  a  presentiment  that  if  he  be- 
came my  lover  my  life  would  find  a  tragic  end. 

"Once,  likewise,  I  told  thy  father,  before  he  be- 
came my  lover,  that  the  price  we  might  have  to 
pay,  if  we  permitted  ourselves  to  love,  would  be 
sorrow  and  death!  For,  my  baby,  these  are  so 
often  the  terrible  cost  of  such  a  love  as  ours.  That 
he  has  been  my  lover — my  beloved — heart  of  my 
heart — thine  own  existence  is  the  living  proof; 
and  something — an  intangible  something — tells 


225 


ONE  DAY 

me  that  the  rest  of  his  prophecy  will  likewise  be 
fulfilled.  We  have  known  the  sorrow — aye,  as 
few  others  have — and  even  now  I  feel  that  we 
shall  also  know  death ! 

"It  is  because  of  this  curious  presentiment  of 
mine  that  I  write  down  for  thee,  my  baby — my 
baby  Paul — this  story  of  thy  father  and  thy 
mother,  and  the  great  love  that  gave  thee  to  the 
world.  It  is  but  right,  before  thou  comest  into 
thy  kingdom,  that  thou  shouldst  know — thou  and 
thou  alone — the  secret  of  thy  birth,  that  thou 
mayst  carry  with  thee  into  the  big  world  thy 
birthright — the  sweetness  of  a  supreme  love." 

Then  briefly,  but  as  completely  and  vividly  as 
the  story  could  be  written,  she  pictured  for  him 
the  beautiful  idyl  she  and  her  lover  had  lived,  here 
in  this  very  spot,  two-and-twenty  years  ago ;  told 
him,  in  her  own  quaint  words,  of  the  beautiful 
boy  she  had  found  in  Lucerne,  that  glorious  May 
so  long  ago,  and  how  it  had  been  her  caprice  to 
waken  him,  until  the  caprice  had  become  her  love, 
and  afterwards  her  life;  told  him  how  she  had 
seen  the  danger,  and  had  warned  the  boy  to  leave 
Lucerne,  while  there  was  yet  time,  but  that  he 
had  answered  that  he  would  chance  the  hurt,  be- 

226 


ONE  DAY 

cause  he  wished  to  live,  and  he  knew  that  only 
she  could  teach  him  how — only  she  could  prove 
to  him  the  truth  of  her  own  words,  that  life  was 
love! 

She  told  how  weary  and  unhappy  she  had  been, 
picturing  with  no  light  fingers  the  misery  of  her 
life — married  when  a  mere  child  to  a  vicious  hus- 
band— and  all  the  insults  and  brutality  she  was 
forced  to  endure ;  and  then,  for  contrast,  told  him 
tenderly  how  she  had  been  young  again  for  this 
boy  she  had  found  in  Lucerne. 

There  was  not  one  little  detail  of  that  idyllic 
dream  of  love  omitted  from  the  picture  she  drew 
for  him  of  these  two — and  their  sublime  three 
weeks  of  life  on  the  Biirgenstock  with  their  final 
triumphant,  but  bitter  culmination  in  Venice.  She 
told  him  of  what  they  had  been  pleased  to  call 
their  wedding — the  wedding  of  their  souls — nor 
did  she  seek  to  lessen  the  enormity  of  their  sin. 

She  touched  with  the  tenderest  of  fingers  upon 
the  first  dawn  in  their  hearts  of  the  hope  of  the 
coming  of  a  child — a  child  who  would  hold  their 
souls  together  forever — a  child  who  would  im- 
mortalize their  love  till  it  should  live  on,  and  on, 

227 


GATE  DAY 

and  on,  through  countless  generations  perhaps — 
till  who  could  say  how  much  the  world  might  be 
benefited  and  helped  just  because  they  two  had 
loved ! 

And  then  she  told  him — sweetly,  as  a  mother 
should — of  all  her  dreams  for  her  son — all  her 
hopes  and  ambitions  that  were  centered  around  his 
little  life — the  life  of  her  son  who  was  to  redeem 
the  land — told  him  how  ennobled  and  exalted  she 
had  felt  that  this  strong,  manly  Englishman  was 
her  lover,  and  how  sure  she  had  been  that  their 
child  would  have  a  noble  mind. 

"Thou  wilt  think  my  thoughts,  my  baby  Paul — 
thou  wilt  dream  my  dreams,  and  know  all  my  am- 
bitions and  longings.  Thou  canst  not  be  ignoble 
or  base,  for  thou  wert  born  of  a  love  that  makes 
all  other  unions  mean  and  low  and  sordid  by  com- 
parison." 

Then,  after  telling,  as  only  she  could  tell  it, 
of  the  bitterness  of  that  parting  in  Venice,  when, 
because  of  the  threatening  danger,  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  she  left  her  lover  to  save  his 
life,  she  went  on : 


228 


ONE  DAY 

"Dost  thou  know  yet,  when  thou  readest  this, 
little  Paul,  with  thy  father's  eyes — dost  thou 
know,  I  wonder,  the  meaning  of  that  great  love 
which  to  the  twain  who  realize  it  becomes  a  sac- 
rament— dost  understand? — a  sacrament  holier 
even  than  a  prayer.  It  was  even  so  with  thy 
father  and  me — dost  thou — canst  thou  under- 
stand ?  If  not  yet,  sometime  thou  wilt,  and  thou 
wilt  then  forgive  thy  mother  for  her  sin." 

She  told  of  the  taunts  and  persecutions  to  which 
she  was  forced  to  submit  upon  her  return  to  her 
kingdom.  The  king  and  his  friends  had  vilely 
commended  her  for  her  "patriotism"  in  finding  an 
heir  to  the  throne.  "Napoleon  would  have  felt 
honored,"  her  husband  had  sneered,  "if  Josephine 
had  adopted  thy  method  of  finding  him  the  heir 
he  desired !"  But  through  it  all,  she  said,  she  had 
not  faltered.  She  had  held  the  one  thought  su- 
preme in  her  heart  and  remembered  that  however 
guilty  she  might  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  there 
was  a  higher  truth  in  the  words  of  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing, "God  trusts  me  with  a  child,"  and  had  dared 
to  pray. 

229 


ONE  DAY 

"To  pray  for  strength  and  grace  and  wisdom 
to  give  thee  birth,  my  baby,  and  to  make  thee  all 
that  thou  shouldst  be — to  develop  thee  into  the 
man  I  and  thy  father  would  have  thee  become. 
I  was  not  only  giving  an  heir  to  the  throne  of  my 
realm.  I  was  giving  a  son  to  the  husband  of  my 
soul.  But  the  world  did  not  know  that.  What- 
ever it  might  suspect,  it  could  actually  know — 
nothing!  The  secret  was  thy  father's  and  mine 
— his  and  mine  alone — and  now  it  is  thine,  as  it 
needs  must  be!  Guard  it  well,  my  baby,  and  let 
it  make  thy  life  and  thy  manhood  full  of  strength 
and  power  and  sweetness  and  glory  and  joy,  and 
remember,  as  thou  readest  for  the  first  time  this 
story  of  thy  coming  into  the  world,  that  thy 
mother  counted  it  her  greatest,  proudest  glory  to 
be  the  chosen  love  of  thy  father,  and  the  mother 
of  his  son." 

She  had  touched  as  lightly  as  she  could  upon 
the  dark  hours  of  her  baby's  coming,  when  she 
was  doomed  to  pass  through  that  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  far  away  from  the  protecting  and  com- 
forting love  of  him  whose  right  it  was  by  every 
law  of  Nature  to  have  been,  then  of  all  times,  by 
her  side ;  but  the  Boy  felt  the  pathos  of  it,  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  His  mother — the  mother 

230 


ONE  DAY 

of  his  dreams — his  glorious  queen-mother — to 
suffer  all  this  for  him — for  him! 

And  Father  Paul! — his  own  father!  What 
must  this  cross  have  been  to  him!  Surely  he 
would  love  him  all  the  rest  of  his  life  to  make  up 
for  all  that  suffering! 

Then  he  thought  of  the  other  letters  and  he  read 
them  all,  his  heart  torn  between  grief  and  anger — 
for  they  told  him  all  the  appalling  details  of  the 
tragedy  that  had  taken  his  mother  from  him,  and 
left  his  father  and  himself  bereaved  of  all  that 
made  life  dear  and  worth  the  living  to  man  and 
boy. 

One  of  the  letters  was  from  Sir  Paul,  telling 
the  story  over  again  from  the  man's  point  of 
view,  and  laying  bare  at  last  the  great  secret  the 
Boy  had  so  often  longed  to  hear.  Nothing  was 
kept  back.  Even  every  note — every  little  scrap 
of  his  mother's  writing — had  been  sacredly  kept 
and  was  now  enclosed  for  the  eyes  of  their  son 
to  read.  The  closed  door  in  Father  Paul's  life 

y 

was  unlocked  now,  and  his  son  entered  and  un- 
derstood, wondering  why  he  had  been  so  blind 
that  he  had  not  seen  it  all  before.  The  writing 


231 


ONE  DAY 

on  the  wall  had  certainly  been  plain  enough.  And 
he  smiled  to  remember  the  readiness  with  which 
he  had  believed  the  plausible  story  of  Isabella 
Waring ! 

And  that  man — the  husband  of  his  mother — 
the  king  who  had  taken  her  dear  life  from  her 
with  a  curse  upon  his  lips!  Thank  God  he  was 
not  his  father !  No,  in  all  the  world  of  men,  there 
was  no  one  but  Paul  Verdayne — no  one — to  whom 
he  would  so  willingly  have  given  the  title — and 
to  him  he  had  given  it  in  his  heart  long  before. 

He  sat  and  read  the  letters  through  again,  word 
by  word,  living  in  imagination  the  life  his  mother 
had  lived,  feeling  all  she  had  felt.  God !  the  bliss, 
the  agony  of  it  all ! 

And  Paul  Zalenska,  surrounded  by  the  mes- 
sages from  the  past  that  had  given  him  being,  and 
looking  at  the  ruin  of  his  own  life  with  eyes  newly 
awakened  to  the  immensity  of  his  loss,  bowed  his 
face  in  his  hands  and  wept  like  a  heart-broken 
child  over  the  falling  of  his  house  of  cards. 

Ah !  his  mother  had  understood — she  had  loved 
and  suffered.  She  was  older  than  he,  too,  and 


232 


ONE  DAY 

had  known  her  world  as  he  could  not  possibly 
know  it,  and  yet  she  had  bade  him  take  the  gifts 
of  life  when  they  came  his  way. 

And — God  help  him ! — he  had  not  done  so  1 


233 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  next  morning,  Paul  Zalenska  rose  early. 
He  had  not  slept  well.  He  was  troubled 
with  conflicting  emotions,  conflicting 
memories.  The  wonder  and  sorrow  of  it  all  had 
been  too  much  even  for  his  youth  and  health  to 
endure.  His  mother  had  won  so  much  from  life, 
he  thought — and  he  so  little !  He  thought  of  Opal 
— indeed,  when  was  she  ever  absent  from  his 
thoughts,  waking  or  sleeping? — and  the  memory 
of  his  loss  made  him  frantic.  Opal — his  darling ! 
And  they  might  have  been  just  as  happy  as  his 
mother  and  father  had  been,  but  they  had  let 
their  happiness  slip  from  them !  What  fools !  Oh, 
what  fools  they  had  been !  Not  to  have  risked 
anything — everything — for  their  happiness !  And 
where  was  she  now?  In  Paris,  in  her  husband's 
arms,  no  doubt,  where  he  could  hold  her  to  him, 
and  caress  her  and  kiss  her  at  his  own  sweet  will ! 


235 


ONE  DAY 

God !  It  was  intolerable,  unthinkable !  And  he — 
Paul,  her  lover — lying  there  alone,  who  would 
have  died  a  thousand  deaths,  if  that  were  possible, 
to  save  her  from  such  a  fate ! 

At  last  he  forced  the  thought  of  his  own  lo^s 
from  him,  and  thought  again  of  his  mother.  Ah, 
but  her  death  had  been  opportune !  How  glorious 
to  die  when  life  and  love  had  reached  their  zenith ! 
in  the  fullness  of  joy  to  take  one's  farewell  of 
the  world ! 

And  in  the  long  watches  of  that  wakeful  night, 
he  formed  the  resolution  that  he  put  into  effect 
at  the  first  hint  of  dawn.  He  would  spend  one 
entire  day  in  solitude.  He  would  traverse  step 
by  step  the  primrose  paths  of  his  mother's  idyllic 
dream;  he  would  visit  every  scene,  every  nook. 
she  and  her  lover  had  immortalized  in  their  memo- 
ries; he  would  see  it  all,  feel  it  all — yes,  live  it 
all,  and  become  so  impregnated  with  its  witchery 
that  it  would  shed  lustre  and  glory  upon  all  the 
bleak  years  to  come.  So  well  had  she  told  her 
story,  so  perfect  had  been  its  word-painting,  he 
was  sure  that  he  would  recognize  every  scene. 

He  explored   the   ivy-terrace  leading  to  his 

236 


ONE  DAY 

mother's  room,  he  walked  up  and  down  under 
the  lime  trees,  and  he  sat  on  the  bench  still  in 
position  under  the  ivy  hanging  from  the  balus- 
trade, and  looked  up  wistfully  at  the  windows  of 
the  rooms  that  had  been  hers.  Then  he  engaged 
a  launch  and  crossed  the  lake,  and  was  not  satis- 
fled  until  he  had  found  among  the  young  beeches 
on  the  other  side  what  he  felt  must  have  been  the 
exact  spot  where  his  mother  had  peeped  through 
the  leaves  upon  her  ardent  lover,  before  she  knew 
him.  And  he  roamed  about  among  the  trees, 
feeling  a  subtle  sense  of  satisfaction  in  being  in 
the  same  places  that  they  had  been  who  gave  him 
being,  as  though  the  spirits  of  their  two  natures 
must  still  haunt  the  spot  and  leave  some  trace  of 
their  presence  even  yet  He  followed  each  of 
the  three  paths  until  he  had  decided  to  his  own 
satisfaction  by  which  one  his  mother  had  escaped 
from  her  pursuer,  that  day,  and  he  laughed  a 
buoyant,  boyish  laugh  at  the  image  it  suggested 
of  Verdayne,  the  misogynist — his  stately,  staid  old 
Father  Paul — actually  "running  after  a  woman  !" 
Truly  the  Boy  was  putting  aside  his  own  sor- 
row and  discontent  to-day.  He  was  living  in 

237 


ONE  DAY 

the  past,  identifying  himself  with  every  phase  of 
it,  living  in  imagination  the  life  of  these  two  so 
dear  to  him,  and  rejoicing  in  their  joy.  Life  had 
certainly  been  one  sweet  song  to  them,  for  a  brief 
space,  a  duet  in  Paradise,  broken  up — alas  for 
the  Boy ! — before  it  had  become  the  trio  it  should 
have  developed  into,  by  every  law  of  Nature. 

He  sought  the  little  village  that  they  had  vis- 
ited before  him,  and  lunched  at  the  same  little 
hotel.  He  drove  out  to  the  little  farmhouse  where 
the  lovers  had  had  their  first  revelation  of  him — 
their  baby — and  he  wept  over  the  loss  of  the  glo- 
rious mother  she  would  have  been  to  him.  He 
even  climbed  the  mountain  and  looked  with  her 
eyes  out  over  the  landscape.  He  was  young  and 
strong,  and  he  determined  to  let  nothing  escape 
him — to  let  no  sense  of  fatigue  deter  him — but  to 
crowd  the  day  full  of  memories  of  her. 

The  Boy,  as  his  mother  had  been  before  him, 
was  enraptured  by  all  that  he  saw.  The  beauty 
of  the  snow-capped  mountains  against  the  blue 
of  the  sky  and  the  golden  glamour  of  the  sunshine 
appealed  to  him  keenly,  and  he  watched  the  re- 


238 


ONE  T>AY 

flection  of  it  all  in  the  crystal  lake  in  a  trance  of 
delight. 

"Ah,"  he  thought,  "had  they  deliberately 
searched  the  world  over  for  a  fitting  setting  for 
their  idyl,  they  could  not  have  selected  a  retreat 
more  perfect  than  this.  It  was  made  for  lovers 
who  love  as  they  did." 

And  at  last,  under  the  witchery  of  the  star- 
studded  skies,  wearied  and  hungry,  but  filled 
and  thrilled  with  the  fragrance  and  glory  of  the 
memories  of  the  mother  whom  his  young  heart 
idealized,  he  left  the  launch  at  the  landing  by 
the  terrace  steps  and  started  blithely  for  the  lit- 
tle restaurant,  dreaming,  always  dreaming,  not 
of  the  future — but  of  the  past. 

For  him,  alas,  the  future  held  no  promise! 


239 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DURING  the  Boy's  absence  that  day  a  new 
guest  had  arrived  at  the  little  hotel.    A 
capricious    American    lady,    who    had 
come  to  Lucerne,  "for  a  day  or  two's  rest,"  she 
said,  before  proceeding  to  Paris  where  an  impa- 
tient Count  awaited  her  and  his  wedding-day. 

Yes,  Opal  was  actually  in  Lucerne,  and  the 
suite  of  rooms  once  occupied  by  the  mysterious 
Madame  Zalenska  were  now  given  over  to  the 
little  lady  from  over  the  seas,  who,  in  spite  of 
her  diminutive  stature,  contrived  to  impress 
everybody  with  a  sense  of  her  own  importance. 
She  had  just  received  a  letter  from  her  fiance,  an 
unusually  impatient  communication,  even  from 
him.  He  was  anxious,  he  said,  for  her  and  his 
long-delayed  honeymoon.  Honeymoon!  God 
help  her!  Her  soul  recoiled  in  horror  from  the 
hideous  prospect.  Only  two  days  more,  she 


241 


ONE  DAY 

thought,  pressing  her  lips  tightly  tog-ether.  Oh, 
the  horror  of  it!  She  dared  not  think  of  it,  or 
she  would  go  mad!  But  she  would  not  falter. 
She  had  told  herself  that  she  was  now  resigned. 
She  was  going  to  defeat  Fate  atter  all! 

She  had  partaken  of  her  dinner,  and  was 
standing  behind  the  ivy  that  draped  the  little 
balcony,  watching  the  moon  in  its  setting  of 
Swiss  skies  and  mystic  landscape.  How  white 
and  calm  and  spotless  it  appeared!  It  was  not  a 
man's  face  she  saw  there — but  that  of  a  woman 
— the  face  of  a  nun  in  its  saintly,  virgin  purity, 
suggesting  only  sweet  inspiring  thoughts  of  the 
glory  of  fidelity  to  duty,  of  the  comfort  and 
peace  and  rest  that  come  of  renunciation. 

Opal  clasped  her  hands  together  with  a  thrill 
of  exultation  at  her  own  victory  over  the  love 
and  longings  that  were  never  to  be  fulfilled.  A 
song  of  prayer  and  thanksgiving  echoed  in  her 
heart  over  the  thought  that  she  had  been  strong 
enough  to  do  her  duty  and  bear  the  cross  that 
life  had  so  early  laid  upon  her  shoulders.  She 
felt  so  good — so  true — so  pure — so  strong  to- 
night. She  would  make  her  life,  she  thought — 


242 


ONE  DAY 

her  life  that  could  know  no  personal  love — 
abound  in  love  for  all  the  world,  and  be  to  all  it 
touched  a  living,  breathing  benediction. 

As  she  gazed  she  suddenly  noticed  a  lighted 
launch  on  the  little  lake,  and  an  inexplicable 
prescience  disturbed  the  calm  of  her  musings.  She 
watched,  with  an  intensity  she  could  not  have 
explained,  the  gradual  approach  of  the  little 
craft.  What  did  that  boat,  or  its  passenger, 
matter  to  her  that  she  should  feel  such  an  acute 
interest  in  its  movements?  Yet  something  told 
her  it  did  matter  much,  and  though  she  laughed 
at  her  superstition,  nevertheless  her  heart  lis- 
tened to  it,  and  dared  not  gainsay  its  insistent 
whisper. 

A  young  man,  straight  and  tall  and  lithe, 
bounded  from  the  launch  and  mounted  the  ter- 
race steps.  She  saw  his  clean-cut  profile,  his 
well-groomed  appearance,  which  even  in  the 
moonlight  was  plainly  evident  She  noted  the 
regal  bearing  of  his  well-knit  figure,  and  she 
caught  the  delicious  aroma  of  the  particular 
brand  of  cigar  Paul  always  smoked,  as  he  passed 
beneath  the  balcony  where  she  stood. 


243 


ONE  DAY 

She  turned  in  very  terror  and  fled  to  her 
rooms,  pulling  the  curtains  closer.  She  shrank 
like  a  frightened  child  upon  the  couch,  her  face 
white  and  drawn  with  fear — of  what,  she  did 
not  know. 

After  a  time — long,  terrible  hours,  it  seemed 
to  her — she  parted  the  curtains  with  tremulous 
fingers  and  looked  out  again  at  the  sky,  and 
shuddered.  The  virgin  nun-face  had  mysteri- 
ously changed — the  moon  that  had  looked  so 
pure  and  spotless  was  now  blood-red  with 
passion. 

Opal  crept  back,  pulling  the  curtains  together 
again,  and  threw  herself  face  downward  upon 
the  couch.  God  help  her! 


Paul  Zalenska  lingered  long  over  his  dinner 
that  night.  He  was  tired  and  thoughtful.  And 
he  enjoyed  sitting  at  that  little  table  where  his 
father  perhaps  sat  the  night  he  had  first  seen 
her  who  became  his  love. 

244 


ONE  DAY 

And  Paul  pictured  to  himself  that  first  meeting. 
He  tried  to  imagine  that  he  was  Paul  Verdayne, 
and  that  shortly  his  lady  would  come  in  with  her 
stately  tread,  and  take  her  seat,  and  be  waited 
upon  by  her  elderly  attendant.  Perhaps  she 
would  look  at  him  through  those  long  dark  lashes 
with  eyes  that  seemed  not  to  see.  But  there  was 
no  special  table,  to-night,  and  the  Boy  felt  that 
the  picture  was  woefully  incomplete — that  he  had 
been  left  out  of  the  scheme  of  things  entirely. 

After  finishing  his  meal,  he  went  out,  as  his 
father  had  done,  out  under  the  stars  and  sat  on 
the  little  bench  under  the  ivy,  and  smoked  a 
cigar.  He  felt  a  curious  thrill  of  excitement, 
quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  loneliness.  Was 
it  just  the  memory  of  that  old  love-story  that 
had  stirred  his  blood?  Why  did  his  pulse  leap, 
his  blood  race  through  his  veins  like  this,  his 
heart  rise  to  his  throat  and  hammer  there  so 
fiercely,  so  strangely.  Only  one  influence  in  all 
the  world  had  ever  done  this  to  him— only  one 
influence — one  woman — and  she  was  miles  and 
miles  away! 


245 


ONE  DAY 

Suddenly,  impelled  by  some  force  beyond  his 
power  of  resistance — a  sense  of  someone's  gaze 
fixed  upon  him,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ivy 
above  him.  There,  faint  and  indistinct  in  the 
shadow  of  the  leaves,  but  quite  unmistakable,  he 
saw  the  white,  frightened  face  of  the  girl  he 
loved,  her  luminous  eyes  looking  straight  down 
into  his. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  pulled  himself  up 
by  the  ivy  to  the  level  of  the  terrace,  but  she  had 
vanished  and  the  watching  stars  danced  mock- 
ingly overhead.  Was  he  dreaming?  Had  that 
strange  old  love-story  taken  away  from  him  the 
last  remaining  shred  of  sanity  ?  Surely  he  hadn't 
seen  Opal!  She  was  in  Paris — damn  it! — and  he 
clenched  his  teeth  at  the  thought — certainly  not 
at  Lucerne! 

He  looked  at  the  windows  of  that  enchanted 
room.  All  was  darkness  and  silence.  Cursing 
himself  for  a  madman,  he  strode  into  the  hall 
and  examined  the  Visitors'  List.  Suddenly  the 
blood  leaped  to  his  face — his  head  reeled — his 
heart  beat  to  suffocation.  He  was  iwt  dream- 

246 


ONE  DAY 

ing,  for   there,  as    plainly  as   words   could  be 
written,  was  the  entry: 

Miss  Ledoux  and  maid,  New  Orleans,  U.  S.  A. 
She  was  there— in  Lucerne !— his  Opal ! 


247 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

How  Paul  reached  his  room,  he  never 
knew.  He  was  in  an  ecstasy — his 
young  blood  surging  through  his  veins 
in  response  to  the  leap  of  the  seething  passions 
within. 

Have  you  never  felt  it,  Reader?  If  you  have 
not,  you  had  better  lay  aside  this  book,  for  you 
will  never,  never  understand  what  followed — 
what  must  follow,  in  the  very  nature  of  human 
hearts. 

Fate  once  more  had  placed  happiness  in  his 
grasp — should  he  fling  it  from  him  ?  Never !  never 
again !  He  remembered  his  mother  and  her  great 
love,  as  she  had  bade  him. 

This  day,  following  as  it  did  his  mother's 
letter,  had  been  a  revelation  to  him  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  life,  and  of  his  own  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ing it.  In  one  week,  only  one  week  more,  he 

249 


ONE  DAY 

must  take  upon  his  shoulders  the  burdens  ot  a 
kingdom.  Should  he  let  a  mistaken  sense  of 
right  and  duty  defraud  him  a  second  time?  Was 
this  barrier — which  a  stronger  or  a  weaker  man 
would  have  brushed  aside  without  a  second 
thought — to  wreck  his  life,  and  Opal's?  He 
laughed  exultingly.  His  whole  soul  was  on  fire, 
his  whole  body  aflame. 

Beyond  the  formality  of  the  betrothal,  Opal 
had  not  yet  been  bound  to  the  Count.  She  was 
not  his — yet!  She  could  not  be  Paul's  wife — 
Fate  had  made  that  forever  impossible — but  she 
should  be  his,  as  he  knew  she  already  was  at 
heart. 

They  loved,  and  was  not  love — everything ! 

He  paced  the  floor  in  an  excitement  beyond 
his  control.  Opal  should  give  him,  out  of  her 
life,  one  day — one  day  in  the  little  hotel  on  the 
Biirgenstock,  where  his  mother  and  her  lover 
had  been  so  happy.  They,  too,  should  be  happy 
— as  happy  as  two  mating  birds  in  a  new-built 
nest — for  one  day  they  would  forget  all  yester- 
days and  all  to-morrows.  He  would  make  that 
one  day  as  glorious  and  shadowless  for  her  as  a 

250 


ONE  DAY 

day  could  possibly  be  made — one  day  in  which 
to  forget  that  the  world  was  gray — one  day 
which  should  live  in  their  memories  throughout 
all  the  years  to  come  as  the  one  ray  of  sunshine 
in  two  bleak  and  dreary  lives! 

And  tempted,  as  he  admitted  to  himself, 
quite  beyond  all  reason,  he  swore  by  all  that  he 
held  sacred  to  risk  everything — brave  every- 
thing— for  the  sake  of  living  one  day  in  Paradise. 

"We  have  a  right  to  be  happy,"  he  said. 
"Everyone  has  a  right  to  be  happy,  and  we  have 
done  no  wrong  to  the  world.  Why  should  we 
two,  who  have  the  capability  of  making  so  much 
of  our  lives  and  doing  so  much  for  the  world,  as 
we  might  have,  together — why  should  we  be 
sentenced  to  the  misery  of  mere  existence,  while 
men  and  women  far  less  worthy  of  happiness 
enjoy  life  in  its  utmost  ecstasy?" 

One  thing  he  was  firmly  resolved  upon.  Opal 
should  not  know  his  real  rank.  She  should  give 
herself  to  Paul  Zalenska,  the  man — not  to  Paul 
the  Prince!  His  rank  should  gloss  over  nothing 
— nothing — and  for  all  she  knew  now  to  the  con- 


251 


ONE  DAY 

trary,  her  future  rank  as  Countess  de  Roannes 
was  superior  to  his  own. 

And  then  as  silence  fell  about  the  little  hotel, 
unbroken  save  by  soma  strolling  musicians  in 
the  square  near  at  hand  who  sent  the  most  ten- 
der of  Swiss  love-melodies  out  upon  the  evening 
air,  Paul  walked  out  to  the  terrace,  passed 
through  the  little  gate,  and  reaching  the  bal- 
cony, knocked  gently  but  imperatively  upon  the 
door  of  the  room  that  was  once  his  mother's. 

The  door  was  opened  cautiously. 

Paul  stepped  inside,  and  closed  it  softly  be- 
hind him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IN  the  moonlit  room,  Paul  and  Opal  faced 
each  other  in  a  silence  heavy  with 
emotion. 

It  had  been  months  since  they  parted,  yet  for 
some  moments  neither  spoke.  Opal  first  found 
her  voice. 

"Paul!  .  You— saw  me!" 

"I  felt  your  eyes!" 

"Oh,  why  did  I  come!" 

Opal  had  begun  to  prepare  for  the  night  and 
had  thrown  about  her  shoulders  a  loose  robe  of 
crimson  silk.  Her  lustrous  hair,  like  waves  of 
burnished  copper,  hung  below  her  waist  in  beau- 
tiful confusion.  With  trembling  fingers  she 
attempted  to  secure  it. 

"Your  hair  is  wonderful,  Opal!  Please  leave 
it  as  it  is,"  Paul  said  softly.  And,  curiously 
enough,  she  obeyed  in  silence. 


253 


ONE  DAY 

"Paul,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  little  nervous 
laugh,  as  she  recovered  her  self-possession  and 
seated  herself  on  the  couch,  "don't  stand  staring 
at  me!  I'm  not  a  tragedy  queen!  You're  too 
melodramatic.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  why  you've 
come  here  at  this  hour." 

Paul  obeyed  mechanically,  his  gaze  still  upon 
her.  She  shrank  from  the  expression  of  his  eyes 
— it  was  the  old  tiger-look  again! 

"I  came  because  I  had  to,  Opal.  I  could  not 
have  done  otherwise.  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"Something  to  tell  me?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes.  The  most  interesting  story  in  the 
world  to  me,  Opal — a  letter  from  my  mother — a 
letter  to  me  alone,  which  I  can  share  with  only 
one  woman  in  the  world — the  woman  I  love!" 

Her  eyes  fell.  As  she  raised  her  hand  abstract- 
edly to  adjust  the  curtain,  Paul  saw  the  flash  of 
her  betrothal  ring.  He  caught  her  hand  in  his 
and  quietly  slipped  the  ring  from  her  finger.  She 
seized  the  jewel  with  her  free  hand  and  tried  to 
thrust  it  into  her  bosom. 

"No!  no! — not  there!"  he  remonstrated,  and 

254 


ONE  DAY 

was  not  satisfied  until  she  had  crossed  the  room 
and  hidden  it  from  his  sight. 

"Does  that  please  your  majesty?"  she  asked, 
with  a  curious  little  tremble  in  her  voice. 

Paul  started,  and  stared  at  her  with  a  world 
of  wonder  in  his  eyes.    Could  she  know? 

"Your  majesty "  he  stammered. 

"Why  not?"  she  laughed.  "You  speak  as 
though  you  had  but  to  command  to  be  obeyed." 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  he  answered  softly. 

And  Opal  became  her  sympathetic  self  again. 

"Tell  me  about  your  mother,  Paul,"  she  said. 

And  Paul,  beginning  at  the  very  beginning, 
told  her  the  whole  story  as  it  had  been  told  to 
him,  reading  much  of  his  mother's  letter  to  her, 
reserving  only  such  portions  of  it  as  would  re- 
veal the  identity  he  was  determined  to  keep 
secret  until  she  was  his.  The  girl  was  moved  to 
the  depths  of  her  nature  by  the  beauty  and 
pathos  of  it  all,  and  then  the  thought  came  to 
her,  "This,  then,  is  Paul's  heritage — his  birth- 
right !  He,  like  me,  is  doomed !" 

And  her  heart  ached  for  him — and  for  herself! 

But  Paul  did  not  give  her  long  to  muse.    Sit- 


255 


ONE  DAY 

ting  down  beside  her  for  the  first  time,  he  told 
her  the  plan  he  had  been  turning  over  in  his 
mind  for  their  one  day  together. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  too  much  to  ask 
out  of  a  lifetime  of  misery — one  little  day  of 
bliss!  Just  one  day  in  which  there  shall  be  no 
yesterday,  and  no  to-morrow — one  day  of 
Elysium  against  years  of  Purgatory!  Let  us 
have  our  idyl,  dear,  as  my  mother  and  father  had 
theirs — even  though  it  must  be  as  brief  as  a 
butterfly's  existence,  let  us  not  deny  ourselves 
that  much.  I  ask  only  one  day ! 

"You  love  me,  Opal.  I  love  you.  You  are,  of 
all  the  world  of  women,  my  chosen  one,  as  I — 
no,  don't  shake  your  head,  for  you  can't  honestly 
deny  it — am  yours!  We  know  we  must  soon 
part  forever.  Won't  it  be  easier  for  both  of  us 
— both,  I  say — if  for  but  one  day,  we  can  give  to 
each  other  all!  Won't  all  our  lives  be  better  for 
the  memory  of  one  perfect  day  ?  Think,  Opal — to 
take  out  of  all  eternity  just  a  few  hours — and 
yet  out  of  those  few  hours  may  be  born  suffi- 
cient courage  for  all  the  life  to  come!  Don't 
you  see?  Can't  you?  Oh,  I  can't  argue — I 

256 


ONE  DAY 

can't  reason!  I  only  want  you  to  be  mine — all 
mine — yes,  if  only  for  a  few  hours — all  mine!" 

"Paul,  you  are  mad,"  she  began,  but  he  would 
not  listen. 

"Just  one  day,"  he  pleaded — "no  yesterday, 
and  no  to-morrow!" 

He  looked  at  her  tenderly. 

"Opal,  it  simply  has  to  be — it's  Fate!  If  it 
wasn't  meant  to  be,  why  have  we  met  here  like 
this?  Do  you  think  we  two  are  mere  toys  in  the 
grip  of  circumstances?  Or  do  you  believe  the 
gods  have  crossed  our  paths  again  just  to  tanta- 
lize us?  Is  that  why  we  are  here,  Opal,  you  and 
I— together?" 

"Why,  I  came  to  rest — to  see  Lucerne!  Most 
tourists  come  to  Lucerne!  It's  a — pretty — 
place — very!"  she  responded,  lamely. 

"Well,  then,  account  for  the  rest  of  it.  Why 
did  7  come? — and  at  the  same  time? — and  find 
you  here  in  my  mother's  room?  Simply  a  coin- 
cidence? Answer  me  that!  Chance  plays 
strange  freaks  sometimes,  I'll  admit,  but  Fate  is 
a  little  more  than  mere  chance.  Why  did  I  hear 
your  voice,  that  time?  Why  did  I  see  you,  and 

257 


ONE  DAY 

follow?  Why  did  we  find  ourselves  so  near  akin 
— so  strangely,  so  irresistibly  drawn  to  each 
other?  Answer  me,  Opal!  Why  was  it,  if  we 
weren't  created  to  be — one?" 

After  a  moment  of  waiting  he  said,  "Listen  to 
the  music,  Opal!  Only  listen!  Doesn't  it  re- 
mind you  of  dreams  and  visions — of  fairyland,  of 
happiness,  and — love?" 

But  she  could  not  answer. 

At  last  she  said  slowly,  "Oh,  it's  too  late,  Paul 
—too  late!" 

"Too  late?"  he  echoed.  "It's  never  too  late 
to  take  the  good  the  gods  send!  Never,  while 
love  lasts!" 

"But  the  Count,  Paul — and  your  fiancee! 
Think,  Paul,  think!" 

"I  can't  think!  What  does  the  Count  matter, 
Opal!  Nothing — nothing  makes  any  difference 
when  you  are  face  to  face  with  destiny  and  your 
soul-mate  calls!  It  has  to  be — it  has  to  be! — 
can't  you — won't  you — see  it  ?" 

"God  help  all  poor  souls  lost  in  the  dark!" 
She  did  see  it.  It  stared  her  relentlessly  in 
the  face  and  tugged  mercilessly  at  her  heart 

258 


ONE  DAY 

with  fingers  of  red-hot  steel!  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  but  she  could  not  shut  out 
the  terrible  image  of  advancing  Death  that  held 
for  her  all  the  charm  of  a  serpent's  eye.  She 
struggled,  as  virgin  woman  has  always  strug- 
gled. But  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  she  would 
yield.  What  was  her  weak  woman's  nature  after 
all,  when  pitted  against  the  strength  of  the  man 
she  loved! 

"Oh,  I  was  feeling  so  pure — so  good — so  true 
— to-night!  Are  there  not  thousands  of  beauti- 
ful women  in  the  world  who  might  be  yours  for 
the  asking?  Could  you  not  let  the  poor  Count 
have  his  wife  and  his  honeymoon  in  peace?" 

Honeymoon!    She  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  whispered,  "by  every  God- 
made  law  of  Nature  you  are  mine — mine — mine! 
What  care  we  for  the  foolish,  man-made  conven- 
tions of  this  or  any  other  land?  There  is  only 
one  law  in  the  universe — the  divine  right  of  the 
individual  to  choose  for  himself  his  mate!" 

Then  his  whisper  became  softer — more  enticing 
— more  resistless  in  its  passionate  appeal. 

He  was  pleading  with  his  whole  soul — this 

259 


ONE  DAY 

prince  who  with  one  word  could  command  the 
unquestioning  obedience  of  a  kingdom!  But 
the  woman  in  his  arms  did  not  know  that,  and 
it  would  have  made  no  difference  if  she  had.  In 
that  supreme  moment  it  was  only  man  and 
woman. 

Opal  gazed  in  amazement  at  this  revelation  of 
a  new  Paul.  How  splendid  he  was!  What  a 
king  among  all  the  men  she  knew!  What  a  god 
in  his  manhood's  glory! — a  god  to  make  the 
hearts  of  better  and  wiser  women  than  she  ache 
— and  break — with  longing!  Her  hand  stole  to 
her  heart  to  still  the  fury  of  its  beating. 

"Opal,"  he  breathed,  "I  have  wanted  you  ever 
since  that  mad  moment  in  gray  old  London 
when  I  first  caught  the  lure  in  your  glorious 
eyes — do  you  remember,  sweetheart?  I  know 
you  are  mine — and  you  know  it — girl! 

His  voice  sank  lower  and  lower,  growing 
more  and  more  intense  with  suppressed  passion. 
Opal  was  held  spellbound  by  the  subtle  charm  of 
his  languorous  eyes.  She  wanted  to  cry  out, 
but  she  could  not  speak — she  could  not  think — 
the  spell  of  his  fascination  overpowered  her. 

260 


ONE  DAY 

She  felt  her  eyes  grow  humid.  Her  heart 
seemed  to  struggle  upward,  till  it  caught  in  her 
throat  like  a  huge  lump  of  molten  lead  and 
threatened  to  choke  her  with  its  wild,  hot 
pulsations. 

"I  love  you,  Opal!  I  love  you!  and  I  want 
you!  God!  how  I  want  you!"  Paul  stammered 
on,  with  a  catch  in  his  boyish  voice  it  made  her 
heart  leap  to  hear.  "I  want  your  eyes,  Opal — 
your  hair — your  lips — your  glorious  self!  I  want 
you  as  man  never  wanted  woman  before!" 

He  paused,  dazed  by  his  own  passion,  mad- 
dened by  her  lack  of  response — blinded  by  a 
mist  of  fire  that  made  his  senses  swim  and  his 
brain  reel,  and  crazed  by  the  throbbing  of  the 
pulse  that  cried  out  from  every  vein  in  his  body 
with  the  world-old  elemental  call.  Was  she 
going  to  close  the  gates  of  Paradise  in  his  very- 
face  and  in  the  very  hour  of  his  triumph  rob  him 
of  the  one  day — his  little  day? 

It  was  too  much. 

More  overwhelmed  by  her  lack  of  response  than 
by  any  words  she  could  have  uttered,  Paul  hesi- 


261 


ONE  DAY 

tated.     Then,  speech  failing  him,  half-dazed,  he 
stumbled  toward  the  door. 

"Paul!  .  .  .  Paul!" 

He  heard  her  call  as  one  in  dreamland  catches 
the  far-off  summons  of  earth's  realities.  He 
turned.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him — 
those  round,  white  arms. 

"I  understand  you,  Paul!  I  do  understand.'' 
She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  drew 
his  face  down  to  hers.  "Yes,  I  love  you,  Paul,  I 
love  you!  Do  you  hear,  I  love  you!  I  am  yours 
— utterly — heart,  mind,  soul,  and  body!  Don't 
you  know  that  I  am  yours?" 

She  was  in  his  arms  now,  weeping  strange, 
hot  tears  of  joy,  her  heart  throbbing  fiercely 
against  his  own. 

"Paul — Paul — I  am  mad,  I  think! — we  are 
both  mad,  you  and  I!" 

And  as  their  lips  at  last  met  in  one  long,  soul- 
maddening  kiss,  and  the  intoxication  of  the 
senses  stole  over  them,  she  murmured  in  the 
fullness  of  her  surrender,  "Take  me!  Crush  me! 
Kiss  me !  My  love — my  love !" 

*  *  *  * 


262 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  morning  dawned.     The  morning  of 
their  one  day. 

Nature  had  done  her  best  for  them 
and  made  it  all  that  a  May  day  should  be.  There 
was  not  one  tint,  nor  tone,  nor  bit  of  fragrance 
lacking.  Silver-throated  birds  flooded  the  world 
with  songs  of  love.  The  very  air  seemed  full  of 
beauty  and  passion  and  the  glory  and  joy  of  life 
in  the  dawn  of  its  fullness. 

Their  arrangements  had  been  hasty,  but  com- 
plete. Paul  had  stolen  away  from  Lucerne  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  to  be  ready  to  welcome 
his  darling  at  the  first  break  of  the  morning; 
and  it  was  at  a  delightfully  early  hour  that  they 
met  at  the  little  hotel  on  the  Burgenstock  where 
his  mother's  love-dream  had  waxed  to  its  idyllic 
perfection,  one-and-twenty  years  ago.  They  sat 
on  the  balcony  and  ate  their  simple  breakfast, 
looking  down  to  where  the  reflection  of  the 

263 


ONE  DAY 

snow-crowned  mountains  trembled  in  the  limpid 
lake. 

Opal  had  never  before  looked  so  lovely,  he 
thought.  She  was  gowned  in  the  simplest  fash- 
ion in  purest  white,  as  a  bride  should  be,  her 
glorious  hair  arranged  in  a  loose,  girlish  knot, 
while  her  lustrous  eyes  were  cast  down,  shyly, 
and  her  cheeks  were  flushed — flushed  with  the 
revelations  and  memories  of  the  night  just 
passed — flushed  with  the  promise  of  the  day  just 
dawning — flushed  with  love,  with  slumbering, 
smouldering  passion — with  wifehood ! 

How  completely  she  was  his  when  she  had 
once  surrendered! 

In  their  first  kiss  of  greeting,  they  bridged 
over,  in  one  ecstatic  moment,  the  hours  of  their 
brief  separation.  When  he  finally  withdrew  his 
lips  from  hers,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  momentary 
satisfaction,  she  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with 
something  of  the  old,  capricious  mischief 
dancing  in  her  own. 

"Let  us  make  the  most  of  our  day,  darling, 
our  one  day!"  she  said.  "We  must  not  waste  * 
single  minute  of  it." 

264 


ONE  DAY 

Opal  had  stolen  away  from  Lucerne  and  had 
come  up  the  mountain  absolutely  unattended. 
She  would  share  her  secret  with  no  one,  she 
said,  and  Paul  had  acquiesced.  And  now  he  took 
her  up  in  his  arms  as  one  would  carry  a  little 
child,  and  bore  her  off  to  the  suite  he  had  en- 
gaged for  them.  What  a  bit  of  a  thing  she  was 
to  wield  such  an  influence  over  a  man's  whole 
life! 

A  pert  little  French  maid  waited  upon  them. 
She  eyed  with  great  favor  the  distingue  young 
monsieur,  and  his  charmante  epouse!  There 
was  a  knowing  twinkle  in  her  eye — she  had  not 
been  a  femme  de  chambre  even  a  little  while  with- 
out learning  to  scent  a  lune  de  miel!  And  this 
promised  to  be  especially  piquante.  But  Paul 
would  have  none  of  her,  and  she  tripped  away 
disappointed  of  her  coveted  divertissement. 

Paul  was  very  jealous  and  exacting  and  even 
domineering  this  morning,  and  would  permit  no 
intrusion.  He  would  take  care  of  madame,  he 
had  informed  the  girl,  and  when  she  had  taken 
herself  away,  he  repeated  it  emphatically.  Opal 
was  his  little  girl,  he  said,  and  he  was  going  to 

265 


ONE  DAY 

pet  and  coddle  her  himself.  Femme  de  chambre 
indeed!  Wasn't  he  worth  a  dozen  of  the  imper- 
tinent French  minxes!  Wanted  to  coquette 
with  him,  most  likely — thought  he  might  be 
ready  to  yawn  over  madame's  charms!  She 
could  keep  her  pretty  ankles  out  of  his  sight — 
he  wasn't  interested  in  them! 

How  Paul  thrilled  at  the  touch  of  everything 
Opal  wore!  Soft  delicious  things  they  were, 
and  he  handled  them  with  an  awkward  reverence 
that  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.  They  spoke  a 
strange,  shy  language  of  their  own — these  little, 
filmy  bits  of  fine  linen. 

Oh,  but  it  was  good,  thought  Opal,  to  be 
taken  care  of  like  this! — to  be  on  these  familiar 
terms  with  the  Boy  she  loved — to  give  him  the 
right  to  love  her  and  do  these  little  things,  so 
sacred  in  a  woman's  life.  And  to  Paul  it  meant 
more  than  even  she  guessed.  It  was  such  a  new 
world  to  him.  He  felt  that  he  was  treading  on 
holy  ground,  and,  for  the  moment,  was  half- 
afraid. 

And  thus  began  their  one  day — the  one  day 

266 


ONE  DAY 

that  was  to  know  no  yesterday,  and  no  to- 
morrow! 

They  found  it  hard  to  remember  that  part  of 
it  at  all  times.  He  would  grow  reminiscent  for 

an  instant,  and  begin,  "Do  you  remember " 

and  she  would  catch  him  up  quickly  with  a  whis- 
pered, "No  yesterday,  Paul!"  And  again,  it 
would  be  his  turn,  for  a  troubled  look  would 
cloud  the  joy  of  her  eyes,  and  she  would  start  to 

say,  "What  shall  I  do "  or  "When  I  go  to 

Paris "  and  Paul  would  snatch  her  to  his 

heart  and  remind  her  that  there  was  "No  to- 
morrow!" 

All  the  forenoon  she  lay  in  his  arms,  crying 
out  with  little  inarticulate  gurgles  of  joy  under 
his  caresses,  lavishing  a  whole  lifetime's  concen- 
trated emotion  upon  him  in  a  ferocity  of  pas- 
sion that  seemed  quenchless. 

And  Paul  was  in  the  seventh  heaven — mad 
with  love!  He  was  learning  that  there  were 
tones  in  that  glorious  voice  that  he  had  never 
heard  before,  depths  in  those  eyes  that  he  had 
never  fathomed — and  those  tones,  those  depths, 
were  all  for  him,  for  him  alone — aye,  had  been 

267 


ONE  DAY 

waiting  there  through  all  eternity  for  his 
awakening  touch. 

"Opal,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "perhaps  it  was 
here — on  this  very  spot,  it  may  be,  who  knows — 
that  my  mother  gave  herself  to  my  father! 

But  she  could  only  smile  at  him  through  fast- 
gathering  tears — strange  tears  of  mingled  joy 
and  wonder  and  pain. 

And  he  covered  her  face,  her  neck,  her  shoul- 
ders with  burning  kisses,  and  cried  out  in  an 
ecstasy  of  bliss,  "Oh,  my  love !  My  life !" 

And  thus  the  morning  hours  died  away. 


268 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AND  behold,  it  was  noon! 
The  day  and   their  love  stood  still 
together.    The  glamour  of  the  day,  the 
resistless    force    of    their    masterful    love    that 
seemed  to  them  so    unlike  all    other  loves    of 
which  they  had  ever  heard  or  dreamed,  held 
them  in  a  transport  of  delight  that  could  only 
manifest  itself  in  strange,  bitter-sweet  caresses, 
in  incoherent  murmurings. 

This,  then,  was  love!    Aye,  this  was  Love! 

The  thoughts  of  the  two  returned  with  a 
tender,  persistent  recollection  to  the  love-tale  of 
the  past — the  delicious  idyl  of  love  that  had 
given  birth  to  this  boy.  Here,  even  here,  had 
been  spent  those  three  maddest  and  gladdest  of 
weeks — that  dream  of  an  ideal  love  realized  in 
its  fullness,  as  it  is  given  to  few  to  realize. 

Yes,  that  was  Love! 

269 


It  was  youth  eternal — youth  and  fire,  power 
and  passion. 

It  was  May!    Mayl 


It  was  mid-afternoon  before  they  awakened, 
to  look  into  each  other's  eyes  with  a  new  under- 
standing. Surely  never  since  the  world  began 
had  two  souls  loved  each  other  as  did  these! 

And  what  should  they  do  with  the  afternoon? 
Such  a  little  while  remained  for  them — such  a 
little  while! 

Paul  drew  out  his  mother's  letter,  and  to- 
gether they  read  it,  understanding  now,  as  they 
had  not  been  able  to  understand  before,  its 
whole  wonderful  significance. 

When  they  read  of  the  first  dawn  of  the  hope 
of  parentage  in  the  hearts  of  these  long-ago 
lovers,  their  eyes  met,  heavy  with  the  wistful- 
ness  of  renunciation.  That  consolation,  alas! 
was  not  for  them.  Only  the  joy  of  loving  could 
ever  be  theirs. 

And  then,  drawing  out  the  other  letters  that 

270 


ONE  DAY 

had  accompanied  his  mother's,  Paul  revealed  to 
his  darling  the  whole  mystery  of  his  identity. 

At  first  she  was  startled — almost  appalled — at 
the  thought  that  she  had  given  herself  to  a  Prince 
of  the  Purple — a  real  king  of  a  real  kingdom — 
and  for  a  moment  felt  a  strange  awe  of  him. 

But  Paul,  reading  her  unspoken  thought  in  her 
eyes,  with  that  sweet  clairvoyance  that  had  always 
existed  between  them,  soothed  and  petted  and 
caressed  her  till  the  smiles  returned  to  her  face 
and  she  nestled  in  his  arms,  once  more  happy  and 
content. 

She  was  the  queen  of  his  soul,  he  told  her,  who- 
ever might  wear  the  crown  and  bear  the  title  be- 
fore the  world.  Then,  very  carefully,  lest  he 
should  wound  her,  he  told  her  the  whole  story  of 
the  Princess  Elodie. 

Opal  moved  across  the  room  and  stood  drum- 
ming idly  by  the  long,  open  window.  He  watched 
her  anxiously. 

"Paul,  did  you  go  to  see  her  as  you  promised — 
and  is  she  .  .  .  pretty?" 

"She  is  a  cow!" 

"Paul !"    Opal  laughed  at  his  tone. 


271 


ONE  DAY 

"Oh,  but  she  is !    Fancy  loving  a  cow !" 

Opal's  heart  grew  heavy  with  a  great  pity  for 
this  poor,  unfortunate  royal  lady  who  was  to  be 
Paul's  wife — the  mother  of  his  children — but  nev- 
er, never  his  Love ! 

"But,  Paul,  you'll  be  good  to  her,  won't  you? 
I  know  you  will !  You  couldn't  be  unkind  to  any 
living  thing." 

And  she  ran  into  his  arms,  and  clasped  his  neck 
tight !  And  the  poor  Princess  Elodie  was  again 
forgotten ! 

"You — Opal — are  my  real  rvife,"  Paul  assured 
her,  "the  one  love  of  my  soul,  the  mate  the  gods 
have  formed  for  me — my  own  forever !" 

Opal  wept  for  pity  of  him,  and  for  herself,  but 
she  faced  the  future  bravely.  She  would  always 
be  his  guiding  star,  to  beckon  him  upward ! 

"And,  Opal,  my  darling,"  Paul  went  on,  "I 
promise  you  to  live  henceforth  a  life  of  which  you 
shall  be  proud.  I  will  be  brave  and  true  and  noble 
and  great  and  pure — to  prove  my  gratitude  to  the 
gods  for  giving  me  this  one  day — for  giving  me 
you,  dearest — and  your  love — your  wonderful 
love !  I  will  be  worthy,  dear — I  will !  I'll  be  your 

272 


ONE  DAY 

knight — your  Launcelot — and  you  shall  be  my 
Guenevere!  I  will  always  wear  your  colors  in 
my  heart,  dear — the  red-brown  of  your  hair,  the 
glorious  hazel  of  your  eyes,  the  flush  of  your  soft 
cheek,  the  rose  of  your  sweet  lips,  the  virgin 
whiteness  of  your  soul !" 

Opal  looked  at  him  with  eyes  brimming  with 
pride.  Young  as  he  was,  he  was  indeed  every 
inch  a  king. 

And  she  had  crowned  him  king  of  her  heart 
and  soul  and  life  before  she  had  known!  Oh,  the 
wonder  of  it! — the  strange,  sweet  wonder  of  it! 
He,  who  might  have  loved  and  mated  where  he 
would,  had  chosen  her  to  be  his  love !  She  could 
not  realize  it.  It  was  almost  beyond  belief,  she 
thought,  that  she — plain  little  Opal  Ledoux — 
could  stir  such  a  nature  as  his  to  such  a  depth  as 
she  knew  she  had  stirred  it. 

Ah,  the  gods  had  been  good  to  her !  They  had 
sent  her  the  Prince  Charming,  and  he  had  wak- 
ened her  with  his  kiss — that  first  kiss — how  well 
she  remembered  it — and  how  utterly  she  belonged 
to  him! 

Then  she  remembered  that,  however  much  they 


273 


ONE  DAY 

tried  to  deceive  themselves,  there  was  a  to-mor- 
row— a  to-morrow  that  would  surely  come — a  to- 
morrow in  which  they  would  not  belong  to  each 
other  at  all.  He  would  belong  to  the  world.  She 
would  belong  to  a 

She  sprang  up  at  the  recollection,  and  drew  the 
curtains  of  the  window  closer  together. 

"We  will  shut  out  the  cold,  inquisitive,  prying 
old  world,"  she  said.  "It  shall  not  look,  shall  not 
listen!  It  is  a  hard,  cruel  world,  my  Paul.  It 
would  say  that  I  must  not  put  my  arms  around 
your  neck — like  this — must  not  lay  my  cheek 
against  yours — so — must  not  let  my  heart  feel 
the  wild  throbbing  of  yours — and  why  ?  Because 
I  do  not  wear  your  ring,  Paul — that's  all !" 

She  held  up  her  white  hand  for  his  inspection, 
and  surveyed  it  critically. 

"See,  Paul — there  is  no  glittering,  golden  fetter 
to  hold  me  to  you  with  the  power  of  an  iron  band, 
and  so  I  must  not — let  you  hold  me  to  you  at  all !" 

They  both  laughed  merrily,  and  then  Paul,  pull- 
ing her  down  on  his  knee  and  holding  her  face 
against  his  own,  whispered,  "What  care  we  for  the 
old  world?  It  is  as  sad  and  mad  and  bad  as  we 

274 


ONE  DAY 

are — if  we  only  knew!  And  who  knows  how 
much  worse?  It  has  petty  bickerings,  damning 
lies  of  spite  and  malice,  trickery  and  thievery  and 
corruption  on  its  conscience.  Let  the  little  peo- 
ple of  the  world  prate  of  their  little  things !  We 
are  free,  dearest — and  we  defy  it,  don't  we?  Our 
ideals  are  never  lost.  And  ideals  are  the  life  of 
love.  Is  love — a  love  like  ours — a  murderer  of 
life?" 

"Sometimes,  Paul — sometimes !  I  fear  it — I  do 
fear  it!" 

"Never  fear,  Opal,  my  beloved !  You  need  not 
fear  anything — anywhere!  I  will  stand  between 
you  and  the  world,  dear — between  you  and  hell 
itself !  My  God,  girl,  how  I  love  you !  Opal !  My 
Opal !  My  heart  aches  with  the  immensity  of  it ! 
Come,  my  love,  my  queen,  my  treasure,  come! 
We  have  not  many  more  hours  to — live!  And  I 
want  you  close,  close — all  mine!  Ah,  Opal,  we 
are  masters  of  life  and  death!  All  earth,  all 
heaven,  and — hell  itself,  cannot  take  you  from  me 
now!" 

Oh,  if  some  moments  in  life  could  only  be  eter- 
nal! 


275 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AND  the  day — died! 
The  sun  sank  beneath  the  western  ho- 
rizon; the  moon  cast  her  silvery  sheen 
over  the  weary  world;  the  twinkling  stars  ap- 
peared in  the  jewelled  diadem  of  night;  and  the 
silence  of  evening  settled  over  mountain  and  lake 
and  swaying  tree,  while  the  two  who  had  dared 
all  things  for  the  sake  of  this  one  day,  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes  now  with  a  sudden  realiza- 
tion of  the  end. 

They  had  not  allowed  themselves  once  to  think 
of  the  hour  of  separation. 

And  now  it  was  upon  them!  And  they  were 
not  ready  to  part. 

"How  do  people  say  good-by  forever,  Paul? — 
people  who  love  as  we  love?  How  do  they  say 
it,  dear?  Tell  me!" 

"But  it  is  not  forever,  Opal.    Don't  you  know 

277 


ONE  DAY 

that  you  will  always  be  part  of  my  life — my  soul- 
life,  which  is  the  only  true  one — its  sanctifying 
inspiration?  You  must  not  forget  that — never, 
never !" 

"No,  I  won't  forget  it,  my  King!"  She  de- 
lighted in  giving  him  his  title  now.  "That  satis- 
faction I  will  hold  to  as  long  as  I  live !" 

"But,  Opal,  am  I  never  to  see  you? — never? 
Surely  we  may  meet  sometimes — rarely,  of  course, 
at  long  intervals,  when  life  grows  gray  and 
gloomy,  and  I  am  starving  for  one  ray  of  the 
sunshine  of  your  smile?" 

"It  would  be  dangerous,  Paul,  for  both  of  us !" 

"But  the  world  is  only  a  little  place  after  all, 
beloved.  We  shall  be  thrown  together  again  by 
Fate — as  we  have  been  this  time." 

Then  she  smiled  at  him  archly.  "Ah,  Paul,  I 
know  you  so  well!  Your  eyes  are  saying  that 
you  will  often  manage  to  see  me  'by  chance' — but 
you  must  not,  dear,  you  must  not." 

"Girl,  I  can  never  forget  one  word  you  have 
tittered,  one  caress  you  have  given — one  tone  of 
your  voice— one  smile  of  your  lips — one  glance  of 
your  eye — never,  never  in  God's  world!" 


ONE  DAY 

"Hold  me  closer,  Paul,  and  teach  me  to  be 
brave!" 

They  clung  together  in  an  agony  too  poignant 
for  words,  too  mighty  for  tears !  And  of  the  un- 
utterable madness  and  anguish  of  those  last  bitter 
kisses  of  farewell,  no  mortal  pen  can  write ! 

But  theirs  had  been  from  the  beginning  a  mad 
love — a  mad,  hopeless,  fatal  love — and  it  could 
bring  neither  of  them  happiness  nor  peace — noth- 
ing but  the  bitterness  of  eternal  regret ! 

And  thus  the  day — their  one  day  of  life — came 
to  an  end  1 


That  evening,  from  the  hotel  at  Lucerne,  two 
telegrams  flashed  over  the  wires.  One  was  ad- 
dressed to  the  Count  de  Roannes,  Paris,  and  read 
as  follows: 

"Shall  reach  Paris  Monday  afternoon. — Opal." 

The  other  was  addressed  to  Sir  Paul  Verdayne, 
279 


ONE  DAY 

at  Venice,  and  was  not  signed  at  all,  saying 
simply, 

"A  son  awaits  his  father  in  Lucerne" 


280 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THAT  night  a  sudden  storm  swept  across 
Lucerne. 
The  thunder  crashed  like  the  boom  of 
a  thousand  cannon;  like    menacing    blades    the 
lightning  flashed  its  tongues  of  savage  flame ;  the 
winds  raved  in  relentless  fury,  rocking  the  giant 
trees  like  straws  in  the  majesty  of  their  wrath. 
Madness  reigned  in  undisputed  sovereignty,  and 
the  earth  cowered  and  trembled  beneath  the  anger 
of  the  threatening  heavens. 

Opal  crouched  in  her  bed,  and  buried  her  head 
in  the  pillows.  She  had  never  before  known  the 
meaning  of  fear,  but  now  she  was  alone,  and  the 
consciousness  of  guilt  was  upon  her — the  acute 
agony  of  their  separation  mingled  with  the  de- 
spairing prospect  of  a  long,  miserable  loveless — 
yes,  shameful — life  as  the  legal  slave  of  a  man  she 
abhorred. 


281 


ONE  DAY 

She  did  not  regret  the  one  day  she  had  given 
to  her  lover.  Whatever  the  cost,  she  would  never, 
never  regret,  she  said  to  herself,  for  it  had  been 
well  worth  any  price  that  might  be  required  of 
her.  She  gloried  in  it,  even  now,  while  the  storm 
raged  outside. 

And  the  thunders  crashed  like  the  falling  of 
mighty  rocks  upon  the  roof  over  her  head.  Should 
she  summon  Celeste,  her  maid? 

Suddenly,  as  the  tempest  paused  as  if  to  catch 
its  breath,  she  heard  footsteps  in  the  corridor  out- 
side. It  was  very  late — who  could  be  prowling 
about  at  this  hour?  She  listened  intently,  every 
nerve  and  sense  keenly  alert.  Nearer  and  nearer 
the  steps  came,  and  then  she  remembered  with  a 
start  that  in  the  excitement  of  her  stealthy  re- 
turn to  the  hotel  and  the  anguish  and  madness  of 
their  parting,  she  had  forgotten  to  fasten  her 
door. 

There  came  a  light  tap  on  the  panel.  She  did 
not  speak  or  move — hardly  breathed.  Then  the 
door  opened,  noiselessly,  cautiously,  and  he — her 
lover,  her  king— entered,  the  dim  light  of  her 
room  making  his  form,  as  it  approached,  appear 


282 


ONE  DAY 

of  even  more  than  its  usual  majestic  height  and 
power. 

"Paul !"  she  whispered. 

He  seemed  in  a  strange  daze.  Had  the  storm 
gone  to  his  head  and  driven  him  mad  ? 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "It  is  Paul. 
Don't  cry  out.  See,  I  am  calm !"  and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  hers.  It  was  burning  with  fever.  "I 
will  not  hurt  you,  Opal !" 

Cry  out?  Hurt  her?  What  did  he  mean ?  She 
had  no  thought  of  crying  out.  Of  course  he  would 
not  hurt  her — her  lover,  her  lord,  her  king !  Did 
she  not  belong  to  him — now  ? 

He  sat  down  and  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"Opal,"  he  muttered,  "I've  been  thinking,  think- 
ing, thinking,  till  I  feel  half-mad — yes,  mad! 
Dearest,  I  cannot  give  you  up  like  this — I  cannot ! 
Let  you  go  to  his  arms — you  who  have  been  mine ! 
Oh,  Opal,  I've  pictured  it  all  to  myself — seen  you 
in  his  arms — seen  his  lips  on  yours — seen — seen — 
Can't  you  imagine  what  it  means  to  me?  It's 
more  than  I  can  stand,  dearest !  I  may  be  crazy — 
I  believe  I  am — but  wouldn't  it  be  better  for  you 

283 


ONE  DAY 

and  me  to — to — cease  forever  this  mockery  of 
life,  and — forget?" 

She  did  not  understand  him. 

"Forget?"  she  murmured,  holding  his  hand 
against  her  cheek,  while  her  free  arm  pulled  his 
head  down  to  hers.  "Forget?" 

He  pressed  his  burning  lips  to  her  cool  neck, 
and  then,  after  a  moment,  went  on,  "Yes,  be- 
loved, to  forget.  Think,  Opal,  think !  To  forget 
all  ambition,  all  restlessness,  all  disappointment, 
all  longing  for  what  can  never  be,  all  pain,  all 
suffering,  all  thought  of  responsibility  or  growth 
or  desire,  all  success  or  failure — all  life,  all  death 
— to  forget!  to  forget!  Ah,  dearest,  one  must 
have  loved  as  we  have  loved,  and  lost  as  we  have 
lost,  to  wish  to — forget!" 

"But  there  is  no  such  respite  for  us,  Paul.  We 
are  not  the  sort  who  can  put  memory  aside.  To 
live  will  be  to  remember!" 

"Yes,  that  is  it.  To  live  is  to  remember.  But 
why  should  we  live  longer?  We've  lived  a  life- 
time in  one  day,  have  we  not,  sweetheart  ?  What 
more  has  life  to  give  us  ?" 

284 


ONE  DAY 

He  was  calmer  now,  but  it  was  the  calmness 
of  determination. 

"Let  us  die,  dear — let  us  die!  Virginius  slew 
his  daughter  to  save  her  honor.  You  are  more 
to  me  than  a  thousand  daughters.  You  are  my 
wife,  Opal! — Opal,  my  very  own!" 

His  eyes  softened  again,  as  the  storm  outside 
lulled  for  a  moment. 

"My  darling,  don't  be  afraid !  I  will  save  you 
from  him.  I  will  keep  you  mine — mine!" 

The  thunder  crashed  again,  and  again  the  fury 
leaped  to  his  eyes.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
curious  foreign  dagger,  engraved  with  quaint  de- 
signs, and  glittering  with  encrusted  gold.  Opal 
recognized  it  at  once.  She  had  toyed  with  it  the 
day  before,  admiring  the  richness  of  its  material 
and  workmanship. 

"She — has  been — mine — my  wife,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  wildly,  disconnectedly,  yet  with  start- 
ling distinctness.  "She  shall  never,  never  lie  in 
his  arms !" 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  if  to 
brush  away  a  veil. 

"Oh,  the  red !  the  red !  the  red !    It's  blood  and 


ONE  DAY 

fire  and  hell!    It  glares  in  my  eyes!    It  screams 
in  my  ears !    Bidding  me  kill !  kill !" 

He  clasped  her  to  him  fiercely. 

"To  see  you,  after  all  this — to  see  you  go  from 
me — and  know  you  were  going  to  him — him — 
while  I  went  .  .  .  Oh,  beloved !  beloved !  God 
never  meant  that!  Surely  He  never  meant  that 
when  He  created  us  the  creatures  that  we  are !" 

'She  kissed  his  hot,  quivering  lips.  She  had 
not  loved  him  so  much  in  all  their  one  mad  day 
as  she  loved  him  now. 

"Paul,"  she  whispered,  "beloved ! — what  would 
you  do?" 

There  was  only  a  great  wonder  in  her  eyes,  not 
the  faintest  sign  of  fear.  Even  in  his  anguish 
the  Boy  noticed  that. 

"What  would  I  do  ?  Listen,  Opal,  my  darling. 
Don't  you  remember,  you  said  it  was  not  life  but 
death — and  I  said  it  was  both!  And  it  is!  it  is! 
I  thought  I  was  strong  enough  to  brave  hell! 
Opal — though  you  are  betrothed  to  the  Count  de 
Roannes  you  are  my  wife!  And  our  wedding- 
journey  shall  be  eternal — through  stars,  Opal, 
and  worlds — far-off,  glimmering  worlds — our 

286 


ONE  DAY 

freed  spirits  together,  always  together — togeth- 
er!" 

She  watched  him,  fascinated,  spell-bound. 

''Dear  heart,  Nature  will  not  repulse  us,"  Paul 
continued.  "She  will  gather  us  to  her  great, 
warm,  peaceful  heart,  beloved!" 

Opal  held  him  close  to  her  breast,  almost  ma- 
ternally, with  a  great  longing  to  soothe  and  calm 
his  troubled  spirit. 

"Think,"  he  continued,  "of  what  my  poor,  un- 
happy mother  said  was  the  cost  of  love — 'Sorrow 
and  death!'  We  have  had  the  sorrow,  God 
knows !  And  now  for  death !  Kiss  me,  dearest, 
dearest !  Kiss  me  for  time  and  for  eternity,  Opal, 
for  in  life  and  in  death  we  can  never  part  more !" 

She  kissed  him — obediently,  solemnly — and 
then,  holding  her  to  him,  drinking  in  all  the  love 
that  still  shone  for  him  in  those  eyes  that  had 
driven  him  to  desperation,  he  suddenly  plunged 
the  little  dagger  to  its  hilt  through  her  heart. 

She  did  not  cry  out.  She  did  not  even  shudder. 
But  looking  at  him  with  "the  light  that  never 
was  on  sea  or  land"  in  her  still  brilliant  eyes,  she 

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ONE  DAY 

murmured,  "In — life — and — in— death  ...  be- 
loved! beloved!" 

And  while  he  whispered  between  his  set  lips, 
"Sleep,  my  beloved,  sleep,"  her  little  head  dropped 
back  against  his  arm  with  a  long,  peaceful  sigh. 

He  held  her  form  tenderly  to  his  heart,  mur- 
muring senseless,  meaningless  words  of  comfort 
and  love,  like  a  mother  crooning  her  babe  to  sleep. 
And  he  still  clasped  her  there  till  the  new  day 
peeped  through  the  blinds.  And  the  storm  raged 
at  intervals  with  all  the  ferocity  of  unspent  pas- 
sion. But  his  passion  was  over  now,  and  he 
laughed  a  savage  laugh  of  triumph. 

No  one  could  take  her  from  him  now — no  one ! 
His  darling  was  his — his  wife — in  life  and  in 
death! 

He  laid  her  down  upon  the  bed  and  arranged 
the  blankets  over  her  tenderly,  hiding  the  hideous, 
gaping  wound,  with  its  unceasing  flow,  carefully 
from  sight.  He  closed  her  eyes,  kissing  them  as 
he  did  so,  and  folded  her  little  white  hands  to- 
gether, and  then  he  pulled  out  the  disarranged 
lace  at  her  throat  and  smoothed  it  mechanically, 
till  it  lay  quite  to  his  satisfaction.  Opal  was 


288 


ONE  DAY 

so  fastidious,  he  thought — so  particular  about 
these  little  niceties  of  dress.  She  would  like 
to  look  well  when  they  found  her — dear  Heaven ! 
— to-morrow ! 

"No  to-morrow !"  he  thought.  They  had  spoken 
more  wisely  than  they  knew.  There  would  be  no 
to-morrow  for  her — nor  for  him! 

There  was  a  tiny  spot  of  blood  upon  the  frill 
of  her  sleeve,  and  he  carefully  turned  it  under,  out 
of  sight.  He  looked  at  the  ugly  stains  upon  his 
own  garments  with  a  thrill  of  satisfaction.  She 
was  his!  Was  it  not  quite  right  and  proper  that 
her  blood  should  be  upon  him? 

But  even  then,  frenzied  as  he  was,  he  had  a 
singular  care  for  appearances,  a  curious  regard 
for  detail,  and  busied  himself  in  removing  all 
signs  of  his  presence  from  her  chamber — all  tell- 
tale traces  of  the  storm  of  passion  that  swept  away 
her  life — and  his!  He  felt  himself  already  but 
the  ghost  of  his  former  self,  and  laughed  a  weird, 
half-mad  laugh  at  the  thought  as  it  came  to  him. 

He  bent  over  her  again.  He  would  have  given 
much  to  have  lain  down  beside  her  and  slept  his 


ONE  DAY 

last  sleep  in  her  cold,  lifeless  arms.  But  no !  Even 
this  was  denied  him ! 

He  wound  a  tress  of  her  hair  about  his  fingers, 
and  it  clung  and  twined  there  as  her  white  fingers 
had  been  wont  to  twine.  Oh,  the  pity  of  her  still- 
ness— her  silence — who  was  never  still  nor  silent 
— never  indifferent  to  his  presence!  She  looked 
so  like  a  sleeping  child  in  her  whiteness  and  tran- 
quillity, her  red-brown  hair  in  disordered  waves 
about  her  head,  her  eyes  closed  in  the  last  long 
sleep.  And  he  wept  as  he  pressed  his  burning 
lips  to  hers,  so  cold,  so  pitifully  cold,  and  for  the 
first  time  unresponsive.  Oh,  God,  unresponsive 
forever ! 

"Poor  little  girl !"  he  moaned,  between  sobs  of 
hopeless  pain.  "Poor  little  passionate  girl !  .  .  . 
Poor  little  tired  Opal !" 

And  with  a  dry  sob  of  unutterable  anguish,  he 
picked  up  the  dagger — the  cruel,  kind  little  dag- 
ger— and  crept  to  his  own  room. 

The  dagger  was  still  wet  with  her  blood.  "Her 
blood ! — Oh,  God ! — her  blood ! — hers !  All  mine 
in  life,  and  yet  never  so  much  mine  as  now — mine 
in  death! — all  mine!  mine!  And  she  was  not 

290 


ONE  DAY 

afraid — not  the  least  afraid!  Her  eyes  had 
room  only  for  her  overwhelming  love — love — just 
love,  no  fear,  even  that  hour  when  face  to  face 
with  the  Great  Mystery.  And  this  was  her  blood 
— hers!" 

He  believed  that  she  had  been  glad  to  die.  He 
believed — oh,  he  was  sure,  that  death  in  his  arms 
— and  from  his  hand — had  been  sweeter  than  life 
could  have  been — with  that  wretch — and  always 
without  him — her  lover !  Yes,  she  had  been  glad 
to  die.  She  had  been  grateful  for  her  escape! 
And  again  the  dagger  drew  his  fascinated  gaze 
and  wrung  from  his  lips  the  cry,  "Her  blood — 
hers !  God  in  Heaven !  Her  blood ! — hers !" 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  with  an  inarticulate 
cry  of  bewilderment.  Then,  with  one  supreme 
effort,  he  began  to  stagger  hastily  but  noiselessly 
about  the  room.  The  servants  of  the  house  were 
already  astir,  and  the  day  would  soon  be  here. 
He  put  his  sacred  letters  carefully  away,  and  de- 
stroyed all  worthless  papers,  mechanically,  but 
still  methodically. 

Then  he  hastily  scribbled  a  few  lines,  and  laid 
them  beside  his  letters,  for  Verdayne  would  be 


291 


ONE  DAY 

with  him  now  in  a  few  hours.  His  father — yes, 
his  own  father!  How  he  would  like  to  see  him 
once  more — just  once  more — with  the  knowledge 
of  their  relationship  as  a  closer  bond  between  them 
— to  talk  about  his  mother — his  beautiful,  queenly 
mother — and  her  wonderful,  wonderful  love !  Yet 
— and  he  sighed  as  he  thought  of  his  deserted 
kingdom — after  all,  all  in  vain — in  vain !  It  was 
not  to  be — all  that  glory — that  triumph!  Fate 
had  willed  differently.  He  was  obeying  the  Law ! 

And  his  mother  would  not  fail  to  understand. 
Verdayne  must  have  loved  his  mother  like  this! 
O  God,  Love  was  a  fearful  thing,  he  thought, 
to  wreck  a  life — a  terrible  thing,  even  a  hideous 
thing — but  in  spite  of  everything  it  was  all  that 
was  worth  living  for — and  dying  for ! 

The  storm  had  spent  its  fury  now,  and  only  the 
steady  drip,  drip  of  the  rain  reminded  him  of 
the  falling  of  tears. 

"Opal!"  he  groaned,  "Opal!"  And  he  threw 
himself  upon  the  bed,  clasping  his  dagger  in  un- 
controllable agony.  "O  life  is  cruel,  hard,  bitter ! 
I'll  none  of  it ! — we'll  none  of  it,  you  and  I !"  His 
voice  grew  triumphant  in  its  raving.  "It  was 

292 


ONE  DAY 

worth  all  the  cost — even  the  sorrow  and  death! 
But  the  end  has  come !  Opal !  Opal !  I  am  coming, 
sweet ! — coming !" 

And  the  dagger,  still  red  with  the  blood  of  his 
darling,  found  its  unerring  way  to  his  own  heart; 
and  Paul  Zalenska  forgot  his  dreams,  his  ambi- 
tions, his  love,  his  passion,  and  his  despair  in  the 
darkness  and  quiet  of  eternal  sleep. 

"Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the 
Lord." 


293 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SIR  PAUL  VERDAYNE  reached  Lucerne  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day.  He  was 
as  eager  as  a  boy  for  the  reunion  with  his 
son.  How  he  loved  the  Boy — his  Boy — the 
living  embodiment  of  a  love  that  seemed  to  him 
greater  than  any  other  love  the  world  had  ever 
known. 

The  storm  had  ceased  and  in  the  brilliancy  of 
the  afternoon  sunshine  little  trace  of  the  fury  of 
the  night  could  be  seen.  Nature  smiled  radiantly 
through  the  tear-drops  still  glistening  on  tree 
and  shrub  and  flower,  like  some  capricious 
coquette  defying  the  world  to  prove  that  she 
had  ever  been  sad. 

To  Sir  Paul,  the  place  was  hallowed  with 
memories  of  his  Queen,  and  his  heart  and  soul 
were  full  of  her  as  he  left  the  train.  At  the  sta- 
tion Vasili  awaited  him  with  the  news  of  the 
double  tragedy  that  had  horrified  Lucerne. 

In  that  moment,  Sir  Paul's  heart  broke.     He 

295 


ONE  DAY 

grasped  at  the  faithful  servitor  for  a  support  the 
old  man  was  scarce  able  to  give.  He  looked  up 
into  the  pitying  face,  grown  old  and  worn  in  the 
service  of  the  young  King  and  his  heart  thrilled, 
as  it  ever  thrilled,  at  the  sight  of  the  long,  cruel 
scar  he  remembered  so  well — the  scar  which  the 
Kalmuck  had  received  in  the  service  of  his . 
Queen,  long  years  before. 

Sir  Paul  loved  Vasili  for  that — loved  him  even 
more  for  the  service  he  had  done  the  world  when 
he  choked  to  death  the  royal  murderer  of  his 
Queen,  on  the  fatal  night  of  that  tragedy  so 
cruelly  alive  in  his  memory.  He  looked  again  at 
the  scar  on  the  swarthy  face,  and  yet  he  knew  it 
was  as  nothing  to  the  scar  made  in  the  old  man's 
heart  that  day. 

In  some  way — they  never  knew  how — they 
managed  to  reach  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and 
Sir  Paul,  at  his  urgent  request,  was  left  alone 
with  the  body  of  his  son. 

Oh,  God!  Could  he  bear  this  last  blow — and 
live? 

After  a  time,  when  reason  began  to  re-assert 
itself,  he  searched  and  found  the  letters  that  had 

296 


ONE  DAY 

told  the  Boy-king  the  story  of  his  birth.  Was 
there  no  word  at  all  for  him — his  father? — save 
the  brief  telegram  he  had  received  the  night 
before? 

Ah,  yes!  here  was  a  note.  His  Boy  had 
thought  of  him,  then,  even  at  the  last.  He  read 
it  eagerly. 


"Father — dear  Father — you  who  alone  of  all 
the  world  can  understand — forgive  and  pity 
your  son  who  has  found  the  cross  too  heavy — 
the  crown  too  thorny — to  bear!  I  go  to  join 
my  unhappy  mother  across  the  river  that  men 
call  death — and  there  together  we  shall  await 
the  coming  of  the  husband  and  father  we  could 
neither  of  us  claim  in  this  miserable,  gray  old 
world.  Father  Paul — dearest  and  best  and 
truest  of  fathers,  your  Boy  has  learned  with  you 
the  cost  of  love,  and  has  gladly  paid  the  price — 
'sorrow  and  death !'  " 


He  bent  again  over  the  cold  form,  he  pushed 
aside  the  clustering  curls,  and  kissed  again  and 

297 


ONE  DAY 

again,  with  all  the  fervor  and  pain  of  a  lifetime's 
repression,  the  white  marble  face  of  his  son. 

And  a  few  words  of  that  little  note  rang  in  his 
ears  unceasingly — "dearest,  and  best,  and  truest 
of  fathers!"  Truest  of  fathers!  Ah,  yes!  The 
Boy — his  Boy — had  understood ! 

And  the  scalding  tears  came  that  were  his  one 
salvation,  for  they  washed  away  for  a  time  some 
of  the  deadly  ache  from  his  bereaved  heart. 


When  the  force  of  his  outburst  was  spent,  Sir 
Paul  Verdayne  mastered  himself  resolutely. 
There  was  much  to  be  done.  It  was  indeed  a 
double  torture  to  find  such  an  affliction  here,  of 
all  places  under  Heaven,  but  he  told  himself  that 
his  Queen  would  have  him  brave  and  strong, 
and  master  his  grief  as  an  English  gentleman 
should.  And  her  wishes  were  still,  as  they  had 
ever  been,  the  guide  of  his  every  thought  and 
action. 

One  thing  he  was  determined  upon.  The 
world  must  never  know  the  truth. 


298 


ONE  DAY 

To  be  sure,  Sir  Paul  himself  did  not  know  the 
secret  of  that  one  day.  He  could  only  surmise. 
Even  Vasili  did  not  know.  The  Boy  had 
cleverly  managed  to  have  the  day,  as  he  had  the 
preceding  one,  "all  to  himself/'  as  he  had  in- 
formed Vasili,  and  Opal  had  been  equally  skillful 
in  escaping  the  attendance  of  her  maid.  They 
had  left  the  hotel  separately  at  night,  in  differ- 
ent directions,  returning  separately  at  night. 
Who  was  there  to  suspect  that  they  had  passed 
the  day  together,  or  had  even  met  each  other  at 
all?  Surely — no  one! 

And  what  was  there  for  the  world  to  know,  in 
the  mystery  of  their  death?  Nothing!  They 
were  each  found  alone,  stabbed  to  the  heart,  and 
the  dagger  that  had  done  the  deed  had  not  even 
been  withdrawn  from  the  body  of  the  Boy, 
when  they  found  him.  Sir  Paul  and  Vasili  had 
recognized  it,  but  who  would  dare  to  insinuate 
that  the  same  dagger  had  drunk  the  blood  of 
the  young  American  lady,  or  to  say  whose  hand 
had  struck  either  blow?  It  was  all  a  mystery, 
and  Sir  Paul  was  determined  that  it  should 
remain  so. 

299 


ONE  DAY 

Money  can  accomplish  anything,  and  though 
all  Europe  rang  with  the  story,  no  scandal — nor 
hint  of  it — besmirched  the  fair  fame  of  the  un- 
happy Boy  and  girl  who  had  loved  "not  wisely, 
but  too  well!" 

There  had,  indeed,  been  for  them,  as  they  had 
playfully  said — "No  to-morrow!" 

And  Sir  Paul  Verdayne,  kneeling  by  the  bier, 
with  its  trappings  of  a  kingdom's  mourning, 
which  hid  beneath  its  rich  adornment  all  the  joy 
that  life  for  twenty  years  had  held  for  him,  felt 
for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  guilt,  as  he  looked 
back  upon  his  past. 

He  did  not  regret  his  love.  He  could  never 
do  that!  Truly,  a  man  and  a  woman  had  a 
right  to  love  and  mate  as  they  would,  if  the 
consequences  of  their  deeds  rested  only  upon 
their  own  heads.  But  to  bring  children  into  the 
world,  the  fruit  of  such  a  union,  to  suffer  and 
die,  "for  the  sins  of  the  fathers,"  as  his  son  had 
suffered  and  died — there  was  the  sin — a  selfish, 
unpardonable  sin!  "And  thv  wages  of  sin  is 
death." 

He    had    never    felt  the   truth   before,     He 

300 


ONE  DAY 

had  been  so  happy  in  his  Boy,  and  so  proud  of 
his  future,  that  there  had  never  been  a  question 
in  his  mind.  But  now  he  was  face  to  face  with 
the  terrible  consequences. 

"Oh,  God!"  he  cried,  "truly  my  punishment 
is  just — but  it  is  greater  than  I  can  bear!" 


And  Paul   Verdayne  —  'what    of  him  ?    Of 
course  you  want  to  know.     Read  the  segue/ 

HIGH  NOON 

A  powerful,  stirring  love-story  of  twenty  years 
after.  Abounding  in  beautiful  descriptions 
and  delicate  pathos,  this  charming  love  idyl 
will  instantly  appeal  to  the  million  and  a 
quarter  people  who  have  read  and  enjoyed 
"Three  Weeks."  You  can  get  this  book 
from  your  bookseller,  or  for  $1.50,  carriage 
paid,  from  the  publishers 

The  Macaulay  Company,  Publishers,  15  W.  38th  St.,  New  York 


301 


